Translations
by vermouthhh
Summary: A collection of James Vega drabbles, circa Mass Effect 3. Vega/Femshep pairing. Dancing, sparring, swearing, blood, sweat, kisses and Spanish galore.
1. Impresionante

_Bioware owns everyones soul. And these characters._

_This is basically going to be a bunch of Shega drabbles -who knows if they'll even be in order. I'm just going to write as they come to me. _

_Reviews are much appreciated! Enjoy! _

* * *

**Impresionante**

He can't say he isn't pissed when Shepard tells him to go back to the shuttle. He's been itching to shoot something ever since he stepped foot on Mars. Not really picky on the _what_ –as long as it's not impervious to artillery.

He's put up with a lot of shit on this mission too. Listening to Major Alenko bitch the whole way about how he doesn't 'trust' Shepard and how his feelings are bruised, not being able to see five feet in front of him with the fucking dust storm taking down his shields grain by grain, watching Cerberus execute men on his watch –not to mention the whole time this is happening he can't help but remember how torn to shit Earth is getting and how he's _not there_.

The memory of inadequacy is too sharp for a moment. He balks with a flood of pictures that scar white hot inside his head. They're only replaced by a steely look from his Commander as she directs her gaze at him with a hooded, no-bullshit look.

"Now, Lieutenant," she growls.

If there's one thing he's learned during his short time on the Normandy, it's to not argue with Shepard. Not that it stops him. But this is one of the rare instances that he actually shuts his mouth and does what she wants without further protest. She's not messing around. And this shit is important to her –hell, it's important for the galaxy and blah blah blah. He knows that. But it runs deep in the Commander. This is not something to dick around with her. He can see it. He's not sure if everyone else can, but _he _does.

Probably because he spends at least 10 hours out of every day looking at her or thinking about her. So it's become a bit of a thing for him. He's caught himself admiring her tight ass in armor while he's flanking her in the field on more than one occasion recently. So what? It's a schoolboy crush and he knows it. She's older, smarter, ranked way the hell above him and fuck –she's a military legend for Christ's sake. No way he'd ever have a shot with her. He _knows_ that. But it's fun to pretend.

"_Lieutenant Vega, a word?" _

_And then she unzips her civvies._

At least –that's how most of his daydreams end up.

Not that he's entirely ashamed. It's only natural for his hormones to go wild when he's cooped up in a shuttle bay with sweaty _tipos _all day and then pulled out on missions with a stone cold fox for a commanding officer.

The short dark hair, the blue eyes, that olive-skin, the curves of strength in her arms, that glorious _ass_ and that heated look she gets when she's a) deep in thought or b) really fucking pissed. Kind of like the one she's giving him now.

Never fails to turn him on, if he's being honest. Scares the crap out of him too –which is part of the allure. But he shoulders his gun anyway and doesn't leave her eyes until the lift is brought down to the first floor.

As he makes his way back to the shuttle, he prays for a stray Cerberus officer to come waltzing through. There's enough pent up frustration in him to put a bullet right between the eyes of the next thing to stand in his way. Unfortunately, Shepard cleans up good. There's nothing left for him as he retraces his steps.

"This is _loco_," he grumbles as he shoves his helmet back on and exits the base into the storm.

It doesn't take long to get back on the shuttle. Once he's there he slams the door a little harder than he means and shoves himself down in the pilots seat. He rips off his helmet and glares at the controls. All right –maybe he's being a little overdramatic about this. It's not a personal assault on him. Shepard needed someone at the shuttle. Liara had the intel, and Shepard's precious _hijo de puta _Major was like an annoying puppy she didn't have the sense to shake –so the duty fell on him.

He gets the shit assignment because he's still a rookie to them, even though he's paid his dues elsewhere. He's paid them hard, too. Maybe that's some part of why he's getting so worked up about this.

He's just so fucking sick of being called out of fights. He wants to blow something up for fucks sake. He wants blood. He wants these Reaper _gilipollas _dead. He missed his chance to do the right thing before with his squad, this is his chance to redeem himself_. _Except for the glaring fact that he can't even get his clip loaded before someone sends him back to the _fucking_ shuttle.

He takes to the air and the communications board lights up.

"You get a time out, Vega?" Joker quips from the Normandy.

"_Que te jodan,"_ he mutters conversationally.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"I believe that phrase in English translates to-"

"Thanks, EDI," James quickly cuts the AI off.

"What's your status?" Joker asks, still smirking by the sounds of it.

"Waiting for Shepard's orders. They went for the archives."

Joker replies but it comes through in a mess of static.

"Shit," James murmurs and peers through the dark windows of the shuttle.

The storm is getting worse. Dark streaks of red lightning rake fingers down the dirty clouds. He guides the shuttle out of the line of trajectory a bit to buy more time and hits a few buttons to try and radio Shepard. There's a dark feeling in the bottom of his stomach when he hears her voice. Christ, he docks Alenko for being a needy puppy and yet here he is getting growly and protective of the Commander because of a goddamn storm.

"What is it, James?"

He clears his throat a little. Her voice is husky and low –coming through the speakers its heaven. But there are bigger things to worry about than his overactive –and terribly _neglected_- sex drive.

"Storm's getting bad, Commander. I've lost communication with the Normandy."

He waits, holds his damn breath even, to hear her voice again. But all he gets is static. It persists for a while. Ten minutes pass. Twenty crawl. He's getting antsy. His skin crawls and he shifts around in the pilots seat like he's got bugs in his armor. The radio silence on both ends has him on edge. Like any good soldier, he's braced ready for action as the seconds crawl by. Muscles tight, jaw clenched –right up until Shepard's voice comes blaring through the shuttle.

"James! Do you read me?"

Static as hell but good enough to make it out. He tries to say something back but the radio on his end won't put it through. He slams his fist down on the panel, and half hopes he broke something valuable just to feel justified, and then quiets as her voice comes through again.

"Cerberus has the data!"

That's bad. He can hear just _how_ bad in her voice –there's a desperate snag to each of her words. She's running. The huff of breath over the speakers might have been damn near exciting if the situation wasn't so dire. And he might have been wondering what _other_ activities got Commander Komda Shepard panting like that.

But now was not the time.

"On my way, Commander," he grunts, even though he knows she can't hear him.

She keeps yelling. Something explodes. If he wasn't on edge before he's like a serrated blade now. Every movement is rigid and tight. Something is about to happen and he can feel it with every battle-torn instinct in him. He pulls the shuttle around to her coordinates and watches a figure dart across the platform.

"James! Normandy! Anybody!"

The figure is Shepard, pursuing another sinuous shadow he hadn't noticed at first. The other woman climbs into a Cerberus shuttle and the door slides closed. _Oh no you don't. _

"I got it!" he yells. This time the radio goes through.

A fire burns in his belly. It's a familiar fire. That feeling he's had ever since he lost his squad because he made a bad call. It's ever-present, volatile and sharp to the point of pain. It's soft too in a defeated kind of way. He really doesn't give a fuck what happens to him these days. He'd rather stick around to see the end of the Reapers, but does he really deserve to? He's no hero. He got men killed.

If he dies pulling this shit, then it was meant to be, right?

"C'mere, _feo_."

When he thrusts the engines as hard as they'll go and steers straight into the Cerberus shuttle, half of him is enjoying the freedom of being totally and completely _reckless_. The other half –though he'd never admit it to himself- is hoping if he survives this, his little stunt will impress his Commander.


	2. Sorpresas

_Bioware owns everyones soul, and these characters!_

_Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing, you are so wonderful!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Sorpresas**_  
_

When she leaves, she leaves him sitting on a crate nursing a bruised jaw and a heart just about ready to beat right out his chest.

James Vega has no fucking clue what just happened.

He didn't think she'd ever come down to the cargo bay, for one. She caught him off guard. He _hated_ being caught off guard. But there she was during the middle of his pull ups with her satin mouth and her dark, disheveled hair. He thought he didn't like the short hair look on women, but hell she pulls it off. Pulls it off damn good. There's a tomboyish, sexy, just-want-to-run-your-fingers-through quality to it that drives him _loco_.

And those _eyes_. _Azul_ –like those flowers he never cared to learn the name of back home. Her eyes kind of smirk when she talks to him sometimes, he's noticed. A little turned up in the corners, like she always has some private joke she doesn't feel like sharing. It make his skin crawl in all the right ways.

"You come down here for something or are you just lookin'?" he had asked her through a breath between reps.

Thought it was a pretty good line, too. _Try that on for size, Lola_.

But he should have known she'd be too quick to fall prey to something like that. Her eyes turned up a little in the corners and his hands suddenly felt a little slick on the bar. She turned away with a hum to her husky voice.

"I did just come to chat, but I might stay for the show."

Well, well, well. Stone coldfox _and_ she came with lines? Shepard had managed to surprise him in every aspect of her prowess since he signed on with her. Her elegance on the battlefield, her ability to wade through political bullshit, that little tattoo he got a glimpse of one time when she was stripping her armor and now _this_.

"Have to work harder than that if you want me to blush," he deadpanned.

From there, it was a blur. A fast paced blur that had glimpses of her olive-toned face, low voice and her fists. That girl packs one _mean_ right hook, not that he'd admit how bad his jaw is hurting. Granted, he wouldn't have let her hit him at all if she hadn't thrown him all out of sync with her sudden and deadly accurate insight about his squad and his little stunt on Mars.

Hell, he knows she got put back together piece by piece by Cerberus but he didn't know they installed some freaky mind reader software in when the did the job.

He paused for just long enough to glance at her with her rouged cheeks and hooded glare and wonder how in the hell she'd managed to figure him out so _fast. _He'd only come to terms with his new daredevil, balls out attitude a month ago. She'd known him for a few weeks and she was already right down to his _core._

It made him hesitate. It made his heart wrench a bit in his chest just for a fraction of a second. And before he knew it she'd cut a weak spot at his wrist and got him down on his back. Had the circumstances been different, he might have even enjoyed that move. Lying down on the cool metal of the cargo bay floor looking up into eyes so blue it makes a _hermano_ ache –but he was too disoriented to even process what in the holy fuck had just occurred to enjoy being completely at Commander Shepard's mercy.

She helped him to his feet and was surprised by her once more as he felt her hands. Silken, so smooth it was like grasping water. Small too. His hand engulfed hers completely. Dark caramel against olive. Calloused against smooth.

"Thanks for the pep talk," he'd said robotically.

Her eyes smirked a bit at him again, but this time the look was softer. Prettier. Like she knew just how deep of a nerve she'd hit and she wasn't being smug about it. It was almost…sympathetic? Or empathetic. He couldn't tell.

Damn. Who the hell was this woman, anyway?

Just before she walked away he scratched at the back of his head.

"Hey," he called out. His mouth was moving but his brain was long gone.

She turned her head over her shoulder, looked like she was about to purr. _Dios te salve, Maria_.

"Thanks for the dance, Lola."

Oh _fuck_. _Shit shit shit shit shit shit_.

Did he really just said that _out loud_? Jesus.

It…it just came out. All in a rush, one sweeping breath. He's always had a bad habit of saying shit before he thinks about it and he was sure this was going to be one of those instances where it was _really_ going to bite him in the ass. Shepard raised a dark eyebrow and his blood froze.

He'd been calling her Lola in his head for weeks but it hadn't slipped out before. He'd kept a steady reign on it. Until…well, until now. He waited with his jaw clenched for her reaction. Half expected her to pull a gun and shoot him on the spot.

Instead, she laughed.

"Lola, huh?"

He struggled for his breath for a moment. Wiped the blood from his nose.

"You kind of look like a Lola," he offered. _Lame, amigo. Really lame._

Her hands go to the divine curves of her hips and she cocks a shoulder at him.

"You're cute, so I'll let you get away with it," her eyes turned up in a smirk, "For now."

A fire exploded in his chest. He quickly cut back toward his working bench before she could see the tightness in his face.

"That's it…now you made me blush."

He heard her smirk trialing through the cargo bay as she turned and left. He watched her go, watched the back and forth movement of her hips and the lean line of her shoulders, and then as soon as she was in the elevator he slumped against the closest crate and put his head in his hands.

He's been there for some time, trying to make sense of it. The steady throb of his jaw and the dull ache in his nose are nothing compared to what's going on in his stomach. A buoyant, impatient, weightless feeling. It's not purely sexual though, as most of his post-Shepard encounters have been. (Though he won't deny, the way she flipped him over was all kinds of sexy and it would be even hotter if she'd straddled him afterwards. ) But that's besides the point.

No, the feeling in his stomach is new. It's raw, powerful and heavier than the prickling feeling of a schoolboy crush. His head is a hornets nest. He needs to hit something. Or shoot something.

"She's out of your league, _hombre_," Steve's teasing voice echoes from across the hangar.

James's eyes narrow.

Good. Esteban's volunteered for target practice.


	3. Proteger

_Bioware owns my heart, my cat and these characters._

_Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing, you guys are simply flawless!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Proteger**

Shepard is a fucking gazelle on the battlefield.

James can barely keep track of her. Her dark armor against the backdrop of deep space is a blur; she's just lean muscle and raw power wrapped up into one sinuous design. You'd never know she'd died once. Her body is compact, agile, her boots skirt seamlessly over the rocks and rubble of Palaven's moon –the same rocks he's stumbling over as he pants after her.

"That you breathing so hard, James?" she teases from the frontline.

He quiets his breathing grumpily and tries to lunge over a rock his Commander glided over half a second ago.

"Atmosphere's just a little thinner than I'm used to," he defends himself. Badly.

He hears the ghost of her laughter right before he's caught up being mesmerized by her violent elegance again.

The harvester just dropped off a nice load of Reapers for them to handle while the general raises the new Primarch of Palaven. James would have gotten on his knees and begged Shepard to go see what they could find to shoot, but it would have been a wasted effort. He kind of got the feeling his Commander was just as ready as he was to put a bullet through something. She's already on her way before he or Garrus can get their feet moving. That glint in her eyes as she darts over the war torn terrain of Menae, the twitch of her lips like she almost wants to _grin_ when she's got that shotgun in her hands.

Her eagerness is almost as sexy as the way the adrenaline rouges her cheeks or her soft, deliberate breaths that he can just hear over the battlefield.

The Reapers take paramount though as they round the corner and step out of the safety of the camp. Shepard skids to cover a bit ahead of them and he and Garrus flank her ten feet back. He presses his back up against a rock face and loads his gun. The old thermal clip sizzles and ejects with a hiss of steam. He grins through the haze and replaces it.

"Come and get it!" he yells, turns in one calculated twist and shoots an approaching husk in the chest.

The blue body flies back with the impact and he almost feels like cheering. Sometimes wars feel like they can be won with just one bullet.

He gets a few good shots in and feels pretty damn good about his aim. But then he gets a look at Shepard. Her artillery is like artistry. She pops up from her cover and strikes her arm left, right, center –like she's conducting her own bloody symphony. The heads explode on three husks. Then she raises her free hand as another lunges for her. Her fist crackles blue before it explodes like a blossoming flower –not unlike those _loco_ eyes of hers- and the husk flies twenty feet back.

He almost thinks of complimenting her, but now isn't the time. Now is the time to get all this shit out of his system. The tightness, the buoyant, prickling feeling. He figures he either needed to fight or fuck to get it out of his system. Fortunately –or maybe _unfortunately _for his libido, at least- there are plenty of opportunities to fight in this war.

He can feel the tension releasing with every blast of his pistol. Every screech of a husk. Every crumbling Turian-turned-Reaper fading into dust on the craters of Menae. He's feeling good about damn near everything. This is _cathartic_. The blood pulsing in his ears and the sounds of war –the little things, y'know? Gotta take the pleasures while you can.

But it all goes wrong in about half a second.

Everything's going just _maravilloso _until one of those freaky ass Turian husks gets too close. Shepard's busy shooting a husk that's got Garrus by the throat and the thing gets her square in the chest. Her shields hold up for the first few rounds but by the time she notices the enemy approaching it's too late.

James freezes.

"Taking heavy fire!" he hears her call out in a tight voice.

And she's not kidding. As soon as the words leave her lips he sees her shields fail in a static haze of purple and a bullet clips her in the shoulder. A magnificent burst of blood colors her cheek with the impact and she goes down for cover. She's unfocused for a moment. Her hand plants in the dirt as she tries to keep herself up.

James is up before he can even try to process all the reasons why this is idea is all kinds of _estupido_. This is one of the first instances where his misplaced protectiveness over Shepard overrides his ability to think logically. It's sudden, too quick to even think about. His boots pound over the rock.

There's really nothing graceful about him. If Shepard is the gazelle he's the elephant. He moves like a wall –all muscle, heavy momentum, no agility. He barrels through the gunfire and ignores the protests of his shields. He skids down next to Shepard and pops over the rock face to shoot the _hijo de puta _that shot her right in his its ugly face. It goes down. Hard.

He hears Shepard take a ragged breath next to him and he squats back down beside her. This close, he can see the blood flowing steadily from her shoulder, but also the reactivation of her shields. Her cheeks are smudged with blood and dirt. Not a bad look for her, he notes.

But his body is too on edge to admire her raw beauty for long. He's like fuckin' Papa bear all of a sudden, _Jesus_.

He knows damn well Shepard can take care of herself. Hell, she can probably take a hit better than he can if he's being honest. But he can't _help_ feeling protective. It's caveman shit. Something worked down deep in his blood that he can't shake –just like he can't shake the tightness of his jaw or the wild fire in his eyes as he checks her over for any more outstanding injuries.

"Commander, you okay?" he yells over the gunfire.

He probably should have expected what comes next. Shepard isn't a woman who wants to be babied.

"The hell are you doing, Lieutenant?" she barks. Her head lifts up and he watches her eyes blaze in her shadowed face.

"I…" he stammers, genuinely surprised at first by her harshness.

"Get back to your position!" she yells, "_Now_!"

Oh yeah. His position. He's supposed to be flanking her so they can cover all sides of this line of attack. _Ay_.

He sits there dumbfounded for half a second. Has he really let his schoolboy crush mess with his head during battle? This is getting _muy grave_ –he's definitely not a fan of where this is going. But he's a hell of a good soldier and he'll be damned if he can't show her he can pull his shit together.

So he does.

Shepard's back in the fight, her gun like another appendage and her eyes concentrated on everything _but_ him.

He sprints back for his position and appropriately flanks her for the end of the onslaught. He averts his eyes from her hardened profile and concentrates on his gun instead. He loses himself in the steady rhythm of his shots and the hissing thermal clips and tries to forget just how tightly Commander Shepard's got him wound.


	4. Licor

_Bioware owns my frilly pink underpants, and these characters._

_Wow, you guys are so lovely! Thank you again to everyone who is reading and especially thank you to those reviewing. Seriously you make my day so much and make this so much fun to write! :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Licor**

He's decided that he hates the Citadel with a passion.

It's not the _place_ so much as it is the people. It's like they have no idea a war is brewing outside their sanctuary, or if they do they're just choosing to _ignore_ it. Which makes it worse. James has been pissed off ever since setting foot here –he'd go back to the ship but Shepard made it mandatory for the crew to have a bit of shore leave. Probably wants to boost morale or some _mierda_.

Unfortunately, the only thing shore leave has done for him is reignite that tight feeling in his veins. He's more volatile than usual, he can feel the change spreading as he makes his way through the place. Every goddamn smiling citizen, waiting in line for shows, chatting at restaurants, wondering which fucking skirt to buy –they have no _idea_ what's happening right outside their doors. They have no idea how many lives have already been sacrificed. How many more are still to come. It makes him sick. And his restlessness returns with nothing to shoot at and no one to fuck. There's no way for the feeling to be eradicated.

So he migrates naturally to the only place in the Citadel that can take the edge off.

Purgatory.

It pulses purple light and smells like sweat from too many species he'd care to count. There's Asari dancers up top but he's not interested in them for once –Shepard's kind of soured his viewing pool for the time being. Either no one measures up or everyone starts to look like her if he stares long enough. The smooth, dark skin, the bright eyes, that sexy tomboy hair.

So he ignores most of the patrons and finds his way to the bar counter instead. It's where he's been dying to be ever since he got on the Citadel. Alcohol better take the damn sting out of his place before he throws his fist into someone's face. He orders a drink with a two fingered wave to the bartender and then waits, brooding, until it comes.

He stays at the bar for about an hour. A few soldiers start buying him drinks and he accepts them –too buzzed at that point to feel any guilt. He's feeling pretty good, actually, and has managed to forget what had him so tense in the first place.

But it takes him all of half a second to sober up when he hears a familiar, husky voice at his elbow.

"Lieutenant."

He turns slowly, trying to mask the alarm in his face. And low and behold, there she is. Stunning in her civvies, the purple lights playing up on her high cheekbones and full mouth. The alcohol shocks right out of his system seeing her standing there like that. Who'd have ever thought Commander Shepard would come visit him in a place like this? It's a welcome surprise.

"Hey Commander," he greets her after he gathers himself, "Nice to see you down here in the dirt with us grunts."

She laughs through her teeth and leans back, folding her lean arms over her chest. He cant help but admire the sinewy curve of muscle in her forearms as she does this. His eyes quickly flit back up to her face.

"You think I don't like getting dirty?" she asks.

He swallows. _Damn_. There are a lot of ways he could answer that question. Nine out of ten will get him knocked on his ass. He could be respectful but the drinks are slowly working their way back into his system and his mouth is running faster than his brain can process. He's talking more with the lower half of his body now, out of habit mostly, and there's not a damn thing he can do to stop it.

He jostles a little and backs up playfully, "Woah now, I didn't mean anything by it, Commander."

She narrows her eyes at him in an unbelievably sexy display of skepticism. Her eyes, _azul_ as oceans, turn up in the corners again like he always swears they're doing. Smirking without actually pulling her lips. Esteban says he's imagining this shit. There's no way in hell he's making this up. His heart starts to pound.

"Uh huh," she murmurs, "What _did _you mean then?"

He shrugs and gestures to the group of guys that have been buying him drinks.

"See those Marines over there? None of them officers, just soldiers fightin' the war."

"Yeah?" Shepard prompts him to continue, her eyes softening from smirking to wary curiosity.

"They've been buyin' me drinks all night, and y'know why? Same reason they got all quiet and serious when you walked in."

This upsets her. It's subtle, but he's been admiring that _perfecto_ face of hers long enough to notice the slight crease in her brow. Not surprising that it troubles her to be seen as something other than human, something more than just a soldier. All she knows is being a soldier –but everyone else has always had other plans for her. First Cerberus, now the Alliance and the Council members and all the political bullshit they've got her tied up in.

Shepard is a legend on the Citadel but he's been on her crew long enough to know she doesn't _want_ to be. It's part of the reason he admires her so much.

If it were him in her place, he'd probably be eating up the glory. Have his name up in lights, be dinner conversation for everyone in the galaxy –he sure as hell wouldn't be as damn diplomatic about it as Shepard is.

But just as quickly as the softness –dare he say, vulnerability?- in her face appears, it vanishes and her eyes are smirking at him again in that vulpine way that makes his palms sweat.

"You don't seem intimidated by me in the least," she murmurs, and then makes a crack about how he _should _be a little more. Yeah. Well guess he earned that one.

He shrugs a laugh, "Sure, but I've fought with you, I've seen you in action. Now don't get me wrong, you're good –probably one of the best…"

"Probably?" she interrupts him. Her eyes are smiling. Boring through him. Something wrenches in his stomach.

_Ay_, she's _listo_, he'll give her that. She knows exactly what she's doing to him, he's sure of it. The turn in conversation throws him for a loop. She always seems to catch him off guard. Jesus, he _hates_ that. Because usually when she does, his mouth starts running to compensate and things just kind of all tumble out. Like they're doing now.

"And you fill out a uniform like _nobody's _business, just sayin'."

_Ay dios mio. _She raises an eyebrow but doesn't interrupt him. Last time he orders a Batarian drink if that's the shit that's going to be coming out of his mouth.

He recovers quickly though and shrugs his heavy shoulders.

"But I know you're human, just like me."

This mollifies the sharp look about her. All her lines soften –especially those around her eyes. There's a startling change in her all of a sudden and for a second he thinks she might close the distance between them, or frown. But she stays put and her mouth stays tight. The softness of her face disappears once more and is replaced by her steely, usual countenance.

"But not them," she questions.

He shakes his head, "Nope. Hell, I still remember the day they made you the first human Spectre. I watched it on the vids, just like all of them."

He remembers it well too. Back when he didn't know a goddamn thing about Commander Shepard. Back when he didn't know she was human, back when he didn't unravel at the sight of her eyes or loose himself in the curves of her hips under heavy armor. Back when he didn't know she was the strongest woman in the goddamn galaxy and that he'd be sold on following her until the end after just a few weeks on her crew.

"But to them, you're still larger than life," he murmurs.

It's a hard concept to explain, especially while buzzed. He can tell it's putting her on edge. She makes a face over towards the loud, boisterous group in question. They're making _pendejos_ of themselves but it's not like he's in any position to stop them. _They_ at least know the world's ending. If he was with his buddies he'd be doing the same damn thing.

"I've seen a hell of a lot but I'm still just a soldier. Still one of them," Shepard says. Something in her rough voice almost sounds hurt.

James nods quickly to comfort her, "Sure, but they don't _know_ you. They just know what they've been told."

Her eyes flicker back to the group, unconvinced. He almost wants to reach out to her but thinks better of it.

"Listen," he says and her tempting eyes fixate back on him, "You want them to see you're one of us, right?"

Her mouth tightens.

"Maybe," she says in a weary sigh.

"Then buy 'em a round," he suggests.

Not that promoting alcoholism is on Shepard's priority list –and if any of them survive this war that problem's going to skyrocket. But it's what _he_ would do if he was trying to get chummy with them. She smiles a little sadly and shakes her head. He thinks that might be the end of it but suddenly she takes a step closer.

"How about a dance instead?"

If he'd been taking a drink he might have spit it out.

"A dance?"

She shrugs her lean shoulders.

"Sure, what better way to show them I'm one of them? Spectres don't get out on dance floors much, right?"

He can't help but laugh.

"I guess," he mumbles, stumbling over the various images of Shepard in one of those tight costumes the Asari dancers wear that suddenly fill his head.

"C'mon, not too proud to dance are you, Lieutenant?" she asks.

She's smirking at him with those goddamn velvet eyes of hers again, looking like a cat ready to purr. How in the holy hell is he supposed to say no to that? He slams back the rest of his drink and then shrugs.

"Lead the way, Commander," he says.

She gives him a real smirk then and takes to the stairs to the upper dance floor. He follows behind her, dumbfounded by what's taking place. They find a spot close to the edge of the crowd and Shepard laughs –it's a maddening sound. Harsh and raspy but goes down smooth.

He stands next to her and watches as she starts to move. He moves next to her, not too close but not far away either. He gives her enough distance to watch her.

Her effort is endearing, really. His whole culture is dancing, so he knows how to spot someone who isn't totally in tune with his or her body. Shepard isn't used to being…feminine. Her muscles don't move in sensual patterns unless it's on the battlefield and she's got a shotgun in her hands.

She's not doing a terrible job. Her hips hit the right beats at least. But she could stand to loosen up. Not that _he's_ going to suggest that to her. They dance a few songs and he's going crazy from the alcohol and the scent coming off her. Body wash, something like cinnamon and rhubarb.

"You're quite the dancer," she suddenly calls over the music.

He's barely noticed his feet moving. It comes natural when music's on, it's been engrained in his system since he was a kid. This is what most people where he grew up did for fun. He laughs, probably fucking beaming like _un idiota_ at her compliment, and shrugs his shoulders.

"There's a lot of dancing where I come from," he yells back over the heavy bass, "Nothin' like this though."

The dancing at Purgatory is fairly…_tame_ compared to what he's used to doing. He's used to grabbing his partner by the waist and becoming one fluid being, bumping and rocking and touching under clothing. He imagines doing all of that to Shepard for a brief moment and looses his step on a beat. If she notices, she doesn't comment.

A new distraction presents itself in the form of a Turian coming in too close on his right. He's been eyeing Shepard for the last three songs with a hungry look that makes James's blood boil.

So just as the bastard is about to make a sweep and cut in, James sidesteps him so he's now facing Shepard. It's subtle, he's not sure if she noticed. But they're closer together now and his body comes to shield her a bit –she's smaller than him and he bends his head a little to get a look down the slope of her face. He discovers she has soft, barely noticeable freckles along her nose. And long, dark lashes. She glances up at him from under them and doesn't seem to have noticed that his caveman protectiveness has acted up again.

The Turian diverts away, taking the hint, and then the song's over anyway. Shepard seems to be done and she makes for the outskirts of the dance floor.

"How was that?" she asked, glancing down at the dwindling table of Marines.

He's fucking giddy at this point so he gives her a shit-eating grin as he comes up next to her.

"Didn't know you had it in ya, Commander. You're a little stiff, though," he smirks.

Shit. Didn't he say he wasn't going to tell her about that?

She doesn't look offended. Merely playful. Her lips are impish and her eyes are flashing at him and it's all he can do to keep from wrapping her in his arms right there and kissing that smirk right off her mouth.

"Stiff, huh?" she asks.

"Yeah," he shrugs, feeling more confident than he should as the last of the alcohol hits his bloodstream, "Not bad, just stiff. If you ever wanna loosen up, come down and see me some time. I'll give you some lessons."

Well. That was bold. His head is swimming and he doesn't really give a flying fuck, but he knows somewhere in the back of his head how many lines he just stepped over. Somewhere back there he's also expecting a harsh reprimanding from her about how he's not being professional and that she's going to rip him limb from limb with a biotic power when there's no witnesses.

Instead, she laughs. It's not a spiteful one at all. He can _hear_ the purr in it. It's playful, flirtatious and raspy enough to send shivers up and down his spine. He swallows hard and she sends a smile over her shoulder.

"Thanks for the dance, James."

Then, she's gone.

Walks right out of the bar and leaves him standing there with his mouth half-open and his mind full of R- rated fantasies about Shepard giving him a very _private_ dance.

"Holy hell," he mutters after a moment. Then, he makes a beeline for the bar.

Another drink won't hurt, right?


	5. Temer

_Bioware owns my wine glass, and these characters._

_Wow, you guys are so fabulous I can't even express how happy it makes me to see people reading and reviewing! You are all just stunning!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Temer**

His datapad is lit up; it washes his face in orange light. It darkens as the vid loads and his corner of the cargo bay becomes shadowed once more. He shifts on the crate he's propped up against and frowns into the screen.

Shepard takes the stage. Her face fills up the screen and its almost like he's holding her right there in the palm of his hand.

It's an old vid, but the content has been bugging him for the last couple of days. Ever since Purgatory, he can't shake the conversation he had with his Commander. He keeps replaying it over and over again, trying to remember every aspect. He can't exactly put his finger on what is bothering him –but it's something about how her _face_ looked when he brought up those Marines. When he told her how they had all watched her get instated as the first human Spectre from the vids –how they had all seen her as something above them all. Not merely a soldier, not merely a Commander. She was _the_ Commander. The savior of the Citadel. The Legend.

Her faces plays back to him as he watches the vid of that very event. He remembered in startling clarity the way her playful eyes went soft, how her sleek mouth faltered a bit in the corners. He'd guessed at her discomfort at the time. He'd sensed it –which was surprising considering how much he'd had to drink- and made a note to think on it later.

Now, it was _all_ he could think about.

How _hurt_ she'd looked, how soft and fragile she'd become in that half a second she let her guard down. He narrows his eyes at the datapad as he watches her salute her superiors. He has the volume off but he knows what they're all saying. The camera zooms in on her face again and he feels this stomach tighten as he lets his eyes pass over all her familiar features. That steely look, the pressed mouth –her hair was longer then. He likes it better now, definitely _un mejora._

He watches for a moment longer, trying to figure out _why_ he's so hung up on this. Trying to figure out why she'd looked so out of character when they'd spoken at the bar. It was deeper than something like bashfulness or humility. She wasn't merely uncomfortable by the high-status treatment –she almost seemed _sad_.

Suddenly, the camera finds her again and he touches the screen to pause it. Her face is frozen there in front of him. High cheekbones, ski-slope nose, those eyes that blaze right through him even through the holographic screen.

"_Ahí," _he murmurs.

This is what he's been looking for. This face right here. It's so similar to the one she gave him in the bar that it makes his skin tingle. The downcast eyes, the falter to her mouth and the slackness of her jaw. Now that he's free to observe it, he can pin it.

The look is _fear._

It's fleeting, as most of Shepard's vulnerabilities are. He fast-forwards a bit and her steely gaze is back without a hitch. But the memory of it is there. It's not an image that's easy to unsee.

"Damn."

He wants to be smug. Just like Shepard got to his very core, he –rather accidentally- stumbled upon hers. But there's nothing to be smug about. His chest tightens uncomfortably.

He wants to run right up to her damn cabin and take her in his arms. Tell her it's okay. Tell her she doesn't have to be this _thing,_ this god-like creature, that everyone has built her up to be.

Shit –maybe that's corny of him. Actually, yeah, he's pretty sure that's the fucking corniest thing he's ever thought up. But acknowledging it doesn't lessen the urge.

He pauses the vid on her face again and rubs at his chin, observing.

"Hey, James, can you come take a look at this?"

A voice at his shoulder scares the living hell out of him. With a cry and a rather colorful expletive, he jumps up and hits the datapad's power button. The screen goes black and he tosses it on his workbench, his other hand reaching up to scratch his head.

"Esteban," he says, a little breathless, "Don't sneak up on a _hermano_ like that."

"Was that Shepard?" Steve gives him a narrow look and tries to peer around the wide berth of James's shoulders to look at the datapad.

"What?" James's eyes widen, "What are you talking about? You're _loco_, man."

"It was, wasn't it?"

They have a brief stare off. Esteban can get fucking scary when he wants to be, so James backs off. He growls.

"Let it go, _amigo_."

Steve folds his arms over his chest. But his face becomes less suspicious and more understanding as the silence invades. He's lost a lot. Hell, he lost the love of his life. James has never really experienced anything like that, much less had to experience loosing it –so he can't really relate. But it's gotta suck.

"You're in pretty deep, aren't you?" he asks James with a sad, sympathetic voice.

Shit. It must be true if Esteban sees it.

James heaves a low sigh and his shoulders slump. But if there's one person on this ship who won't judge James for his crush on the Commander, it's him.

"Yeah, guess I am," he mutters.

His eyes find the floor.

"James," Esteban reaches a hand and touches his shoulder.

He lifts his eyes to his friend.

"With this war, life's too short to sit around watching vids of her. Why don't you just go _talk_ to her?" Esteban urges.

James shrugs out of his hand with a defeated gesture. He steps back to lean on his workbench and folds his massive arms over his chest. He snorts a laugh.

"And say what, Esteban? Hey Commander, you've got a fantastic _culo_, I fantasize about you stripping sometimes, and I'm just a grunt who doesn't have a shot in hell with you but I think I might be in love with you anyway."

He freezes. Once more his mouth has decided to move before his brain. The verbal expression shocks him. _Love_. The fucking L word? _Really_? Has his subconscious already decided that for him?

"Did you…" Esteban stalls, "…_Love_?"

James waves a hand, trying to brush the heaviness of the word off.

"_Ay_, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, well _now_ I do."

"Shut up."

"_James_," Esteban sounds exasperated all of a sudden.

"What?" James hisses, a frown creased into his mouth.

"You can't bottle this up, you have to tell her. Maybe not those words exactly, but at least say _something_," Esteban says.

James lowers his head, unconvinced.

"You want to die in this war and die knowing you didn't even _try?_"

_That_ gets James's attention. His eyes harden as they fixate on a point on the floor and his hands come to fists at his sides.

"Didn't think so," Esteban says.

_Now_ the _hijo de puta _sounds smug.

"Fine, fine. I'll…I'll work on it, Jesus, if it'll get you off my back," James groans.

"Good," Esteban says with a sad smile and turns to return to his post, "You never know. Shepard's one hell of a woman, she may surprise you."

When he's out of earshot, James shorts.

"Yeah, with a bullet in the nuts."

He shoves the datapad off his workbench and it clatters to the floor. But it might as well still be playing. Her face appears behind his eyelids every time he fucking blinks. He can't shake her, hard as he's been trying.

And he can't help but think -maybe Esteban's got a point.


	6. Deseos

_Bioware owns my spandex, and these characters._

_Wow, you guys are seriously so amazing! I want to bake you all cookies~ Keep on reading and reviewing, darlings!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Deseos**

So back when Major Alenko got his ass beat by that 5'3" Cerberus infiltrator chick, James had been admittedly a little jealous.

It was hard not to be. All he'd done was fucking _complain_ the whole mission and he was still the one who Shepard brushed off the Council to see first when they got to the Citadel. _He _was still the one who got her bedside manner and undying attention. It pissed James off, to be honest. And somewhere in the back of his head he kind of wished it were _him_ in Major Alenko's place.

What's that old saying?

Oh yeah- be careful what you wish for.

They _were_ protecting the Primarch's son. Lieutenant Victus had scaled the bomb to disarm it manually and disappeared from sight. Not that James was allowed to concentrate on him for long. Wave after wave of Reapers swarmed them. From her position up at the base of the bomb, Shepard's voice split the sky.

"Hold this line!"

He grunted and half crouched, half jogged to another rock face for cover. He wasn't letting any of those _cabrons_ past him. No sir. Not even one fucking husk. He and Scars held them for a while. The Turian was a damn good shot; he lived up to the battle wounds across the right side of his face. He and James held their line like a well-oiled machine right up until a thunderous crash exploded from behind them.

James whipped his head back around just in time to see Lieutenant Victus plunge headlong into the mouth of the bomb's opening where the disarmed doomsday structure fell with him. Tuchanka reverberated with the impact. The rock under him vibrated and he found himself searching the cloud of dust for the shine of Shepard's armor.

"Vega!"

Garrus's voice was warning. Instincts sharpened, James turned back on his heel and brought his gun up to face whatever was coming for him. He faltered when he got a look. It wasn't just one Reaper that had gotten too close –it was _twenty_.

"Shit," he hissed.

He fired as fast as his pistol would allow, but it wasn't enough. He took a hit in the shoulder. His shields crackled. He took another in the leg. A groan escaped him as the knee buckled and ground into the dirt.

It took three more shots to break his shields and get him on his back. And then –there was nothing.

Nothing for a good while.

Blackness.

Emptiness.

Then slowly, things started to fill the void of his consciousness. A silent rumble. A deep hum. A blue, hooded gaze flickering in his memory like the start of a fire. Then, a gunshot.

It was so loud and so close it snapped him awake. His eyes flew open and he inhaled a greedy, ragged breath of air. His eyes searched the sky –it was still full of dust. Tuchanka's beige, sandy coating stuck in his eyes. But that was the least of his discomforts. Blood -hot, wet and a _lot_ fucking of it soaked the ground under him.

"Cover me!"

_Shepard_. Her voice is close. He rolls his eyes sideways -since there's no way in hell he's moving to get a better look- and there she is. Covered head to toe in dust, her armor gleaming. She and Scars are back to back behind a rock. Scars stands to shoot. He gets a Cannibal right in the gory, open mouth and the things head –can you even _call_ that a head?- splits in half.

"Go!" he tells her.

James watches her move. _God_ does he love to watch her move. She sprints from out behind her cover and makes a dash for him. Bullets fly by her. Her legs are long and steady, feet light -it barely looks like she's touching the ground. Once she's close enough she rolls over on her shoulder and pops up in a crouch beside him.

"Stay with me, Lieutenant," she hisses.

This close, he can see a bead of sweat along her dark temple. Her face is a stone wall. –let nothing through or out. It's better that way. He doesn't want to know how bad of shape he's in and he's glad her body language is disciplined enough not totell him.

They meet eyes in the discord. The alarming blue of her gaze tightens him up. _Ay dios mio_ –they're so goddamn blue. They're almost purple. How is he not supposed to fall in love with a woman with eyes like that?

"I'm…f-fine," he grunts and tries to push himself up on an elbow.

A new wave of blood empties from the hole in his side. He grimaces and holds in a cry of pain.

Shepard plants a firm hand on his chest plate and shoves him down.

"Stay _down,_ Vega."

Her omni-tool glows and she works at applying medi-gel quickly to try and cauterize the wound. It's not an easy task when they're getting bombarded. Garrus calls out another warning and turns to try and shoot in her direction. James gets a _magnifico_ view of Shepard's taut behind as she stands above him, charges a fist with dark blue power, and slams it into an approaching Cannibal.

Now _that_, takes _cajones_.

He and the Commander definitely got on the wrong foot when he first got on the Normandy. He was pissed about leaving Earth –and other stuff too- and thought she was the lowest scum in the galaxy for leaving her home behind. Leaving her people behind. Leaving _Anderson_ behind.

But he's seen the truth. Her selflessness is impossible to dispute, especially now as she's fucking punching out Reapers to keep him alive. A feral cry rips from her throat as she charges a hand again and throws a shockwave down a line of their pursuers. He feels the reverberations through his spine. Each one like a drum beat.

Not unlike the ones he watched her move to back on Purgatory.

His vision starts to fade a bit. Everything goes a little fuzzy.

So he makes sure to get one last glimpse of her ass above him. Y'know –just in case it's the last thing he ever sees. Might as well make it something worthwhile.


	7. La Cabecera

_Bioware owns my delicious raspberries and these characters!_

_Keep on reading and reviewing, you beautiful people! Thank you so much for all your support!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**La Cabecera**

When he wakes up, he's lying on a cot in the med bay. He gets a debriefing from Dr. Chakwas. Apparently, Shepard dragged his ass all the way back to the shuttle and off Tuchanka while he bled out. He was unconscious for most of it, and the parts she says he was awake for he doesn't remember. But he's patched up fine now and a few days of rest will do him some good anyway.

Great. Just what he needs. _More_ downtime.

He feels like shit though, so he decides not to push his luck. As much as he doesn't want to be confined to a bed and have nothing to think about except how royally he fucked up on Tuchanka and/or Shepard unzipping her civvies, it's probably for the best that he's stuck here. His side is on fire and he feels like he literally lost every goddamn drop of blood on the Krogan home planet.

Actually, scratch that.

Because as soon as Shepard walks in with her bloodied up, dusty armor and he feels it all rush back below the waist.

"Glad to see you awake, Vega," she purrs.

"Hey, Commander." His throat is dry.

Shepard drags a chair from the opposite side of the room and draws it up to his bedside. Chakwas excuses herself from the room -the _ángel._

Shepard doesn't seem to notice the granted intimacy. He swallows the tightness in his throat and recalls his conversation with Esteban. _Say something, James. This is probably as good of a chance as you're gonna get._

"How are you holding up?" Shepard's husky voice derails his train of thought.

His confidence shatters under the weight of her eyes.

"Doc says I'm fine, just need to rest for a while," he shrugs as best he can.

She nods and he notices all the blood smeared on her armor. That's his blood. _Jesus_. He checks her over for any injuries of her own. Dragging his ass back to the shuttle in the middle of that crossfire probably wasn't any easy task. But she looks okay. Her cheeks are healthy and red, lips smooth and untouched. Doesn't make him feel any better though. He's still the one that screwed them all over. Just because she _didn't_ get hurt doesn't mean she _couldn't _have.

Shepard opens her mouth to say something else but he stops her.

"Sorry I let you down out there, Commander," he grunts.

Her eyes darken.

"What, by getting shot?" she asks a little reproachfully.

He averts her gaze.

"Well…yeah, I mean hell I left you and Scars out there and made you lug my sorry ass around. Not exactly team player material."

Memories flash back to him in sharp, uncomfortable strips. The colony. Captain Tony. Every fucking colonist lost. That goddamn Cerberus spy.

"Anyone ever tell you you're too hard on yourself?" Shepard smirks a bit with her mouth.

But the look isn't malicious. It's soft. He can just _tell_ she's about to go shrink on him. But he doesn't stop it. Because maybe he does want someone to talk to. Maybe he does want to feel the touch of her influence in his head that's full up like a hornets nest. This probably isn't what Esteban meant about _talking_ to her, but it's a start.

"Anyone ever tell you?" he shoots the question back with a raised eyebrow.

Her face quiets a bit. _No_, he answers for her in thought, _no one ever gives you the chance to be._. Shepard was always monitored in some way. Any of her personal struggles were kept under lock and key –and they had to be. She had an entire galaxy to be strong for. He can't imagine that kind of pressure. Not many people can, he ventures.

"A few," she murmurs and then leans forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, "I've got my reasons. What about yours?"

James exhales and shrugs his heavy shoulders again. The dull pain in his side beats in time with his heart, so he distracts himself by being able to glance at her freely. She's still dirty and smudged from battle. He's found that's his favorite look on her. Her cheeks dark, hair messy, eyes still burning with that sexy earnest she gets whenever she's holding a gun. He swallows again, finding it more and more difficult as the minutes pass, and leans back a bit against his pillow.

"Hell, I dunno, Lola. Being a soldier is the only thing I've ever really been good at," he pauses and his brow furrows, "But seems like I always find a way to fuck something up when it really counts."

"You talking about your squad with the Collectors?" Shepard hits the nail on the head.

Not surprising, really. He shrugs and doesn't say anything. He's not used to opening up. Especially not to someone like Shepard. But she's persistent, and gentle enough to ease him into it.

"Tell me what happened," she coaxes him in a velvet voice.

And so he does. He tells her all about Captain Tony, about how when he died _he_ as left in charge. He tells her about the Cerberus operative. The colonists. Blowing the holy fuck out of the Collector ship. Loosing all of his men except one. And then getting fucking promoted at the end of it all. It pours out of him. Feels like it's in one breath.

And Shepard, for all her roughness, _listens_. She just sits and listens. Her eyes search his face the whole while and when he's finished saying his piece he feels like she knows a part of him that he doesn't know himself. She leans back and runs a hand through her hair. His heart starts to hammer away in his chest.

"You can't blame yourself for being put in a tough situation," she says after a measured silence, "And if you were promoted then something must have gone right."

He's not convinced, "Sure but-"

"If you'd saved them all, would things have worked out better?"

She stalls him with that one. Her voice is low and serious. Her eyes hooded. He opens his mouth to reply but find he can't come up with an answer for that one. He never thought about it like that before, if he's being honest. Shit.

"I…I don't know," he exhales the defeat, "I don't think so."

He lowers his eyes.

"The right choice is usually not the easy one," she says and hears the clink of her armor as she shifts forward and puts a hand at the edge of his cot.

He looks up and they meet eyes. She's a lot closer than she was a second ago. His breath curls in his lungs and holds taut. From this close he can see those intermittent freckles, and the soft pen-marks of her lips. A knot forms in his stomach.

"Like leaving Earth," he murmurs.

She nods, "Exactly."

All right, he'll admit. That logic makes sense. The guilt is still present and he can feel it eating at him as it does nonstop. But it's lessened. A few teeth knocked out of the hungry beast. That's more than he could have asked for.

"You're a damn good soldier, Vega. Don't let your guilt define you," she says.

He watches her elegant hand leave his bed. It slips from the sheets and falls to her side as she stands. The lights play up on her dirty armor. She looks like some sort of goddess towering over him. No _wonder_ half the galaxy doesn't consider her human. Even up close she looks like a creature so above him he shouldn't be allowed to breathe the same air. The feminine line of her jaw turns away from him as she goes to leave.

"Lola," he murmurs.

She turns her head over her shoulder. Her eyes are smirking a little. It's familiar and exhilarating. He's grateful Chakwas doesn't have him hooked up to a heart monitor with a look like _that_.

"Thanks," he says with a slight incline of his head.

It's thanks for more than the talk, and he's pretty sure she knows that. She signals him with a soft nod back and then turns to leave again. He watches her steady gait and the roll of her hips as she gets to the door.

"Get healed up soon, Lieutenant," she says, "When you're on your feet again I'll take you up on that dancing lesson."

The smirk in her voice stays in the room long after she's gone and the doors have closed and he's stunned speechless for what may just be the first time in his life.

And when Chakwas returns a few minutes later, he's still grinning like _un idiota._


	8. Bailando

_Bioware owns my watermelon slices, and these characters._

_I really can't thank you guys enough for all the feedback. I seriously get so excited when I see you guys responding and reading and ughhhh you just make me so happy! :) You're the BEST! You flawless, flawless individuals!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Bailando**

He's at his workbench when he hears footsteps. He turns his head and sees Esteban pass him, headed for the elevator to turn in for the night. He's about to give him a wave when his friend murmurs something in passing.

"Someone here to see you, _amigo_."

Even before he sees her, James's body electrifies. It's like he can sense her. And sure enough when he turns around there she is, just stepped out of the elevator. Her eyes pass around the shadows of the hangar. Everything they touch seems to be illuminated. He watches her and Esteban shake hands good naturedly before they part ways. Esteban slides into the elevator wearing a smug ass grin James _knows_ is directed at him, and Shepard makes her way around to his corner.

She emerges in a fluid motion. Her body is all liquid soft lines. As sexy as he finds her in armor, she's so much _softer_ in her civvies. Taut with strength still, but supple looking enough to invite his eyes easily down her sides and hips.

"Lieutenant," she purrs.

Her eyes are smirking. _Quiera Dios._

"Hey, Commander," he struggles out.

"How's the side?"

He reaches up and touches at the mostly repaired skin along his side underneath his shirt. It's been a week and a half since he got his shit blown apart on Tuchanka. He's not 100% yet, but he's getting there. At least he's up and moving now. Much to his pleasure as well as Dr. Chakwas'. Pretty sure she was ready to kick his ass out whether he was healed or not at the end of that week.

"Good," he gives her a quick, staccato nod, "Doc says I'm ready for action."

His palms are sweating more than he'd like to admit, but he keeps his face smooth. He lets his eyes run over the bridge of her nose and her disheveled hair. It has a sheen of dampness and as she draws closer he smells her shampoo. Intoxicating. Just like the idea of Shepard being in the shower just moments earlier.

"Glad to hear it," she comments easily and then takes a look around, "This place clears out quick at night."

He looks around with her and figures out what she's talking about. They're completely alone. Most nights he's up past everyone else, but he has a feeling Esteban put in a good word for him and got everyone out so they'd mind their own damn business. He'll have to thank him for that later.

Or beat the shit out of him, depending how this goes.

"Yeah, not a late night crowd down here," he shrugs.

He puts down what he was working on and leans back on the workbench. He folds his heavy arms over his chest and looks his nose at her as she sits on a crate to his left.

"You need me for somethin'?" he asks, even though he already knows why she's here.

He just kind of wants to hear her _say_ it.

She glances up at him with playful eyes and shrugs her lean shoulders. A light from overhead makes its way down the nape of her elegant neck.

"Figured I can't show my face in Purgatory again until I learn some moves," she smiles, "Some smart ass Marine told me I looked a little _stiff_ last time I was there."

He finds himself laughing. Damn, if all everyone could see Commander Shepard like this they'd never be scared of her. She's charming as hell. Even gives _him_ a run for his money and he's been talking the pants off women since he was thirteen.

Well…every woman besides Shepard, that is.

But she's _different_. She's always been different.

His hands are still sweating but he's got a damn good poker face if nothing else. He smirks back, "You came to the right place, Lola. I'll teach you everything I know."

Boldly, he extends a hand to her. She contemplates it for a half a second and then reaches her own up. Their palms slide together. Smooth against rough, the rich darkness of her hand, the pretty nails. He wonders what those babies would feel like up and down his bare back. The imagined sensation is almost too much and he nearly forgets to let go of her hand when he's brought her up from the crate.

Their hands part ways like turning pages in a book and he scratches at the back of his head. She folds her arms over her chest and like any good soldier, Shepard begins tackles the endeavor with calculated execution.

"What's first?" she asks with a decisive nod.

He chuckles a bit. Her face turns puzzled, and yet her eyes are still smirking. There's an impishness to her face that is driving him absolutely _loco_ and he's not sure he's going to make it through this lesson alive. He vaguely wonders if the stitches in his side will bust if his heart starts to pump too fast.

"What's so funny, Vega?" she asks. Her husky voice echoes in the empty cargo bay.

"Nothing, nothing," he hurries to say but can't quite stop grinning, "You just…you gotta loosen up still."

Shepard unfolds her arms, genuinely at a loss with the concept. James decides to give her a little help. He turns and directs his gaze toward the ceiling a bit.

"EDI, play track 11," he instructs.

The effeminate monotone answers him back immediately.

"_Playing track 11."_

The music starts. It fills the whole hangar with sound. A deep bass line starts to murmur under their feet. Shepard smirks.

"How long have you had this set up down here?"

He thinks he's in trouble for half a second. Shepard isn't usually too keen on anyone messing with the Normandy. He stammers a bit, cheeks coloring.

"I…uh…Esteban and I cut a deal with EDI to get sound installed down here. Makes the day go quicker, y'know?" He grimaced.

She's not upset. Her smile is radiant. It's a long overdue expression on her face. She's beautiful when she's made of steel, but when she's made of light she's fucking breathtaking. If he thought he was in love _before –_shit, it's like falling all over again.

He swallows hard and directs his eyes away from her lightly curled mouth. It's a reserved expression of emotion, as most of hers are. But it makes it all the more special. Some rare commodity only _he_ gets to see tonight.

"You should get something like this installed in the battery for Garrus, EDI," she murmurs a laugh.

"_I believe he would argue that music would be an unwelcome interruption to his calibrations."_

Shepard laughs again. It's a rich, cool sound. Husky and low. Makes his hair stand on end. He lets his eyes graze her hips again and can't help the tingling feeling of his hands as the need to hold them erases all other thought. Shepard turns her attention back to himand tilts her head toward the ceiling where the music pours from.

"Is this Spanish?" she asks.

He nods with a shrug.

"This is what we listen to back home."

He feels a little self-conscious of it all of a sudden. Maybe he should have picked something in a language she could _understand_. _Idiota_. But instead she gives him a quick nod.

"I like it."

The shit-eating grin that spreads on his face is impossible to mask. So he lets it overextend his features until his jaw aches. He barely feels the pain.

"What next?" she asks. Her look his hard and hooded but the question almost sounds timid. She's very out of her element here, he can tell. But the fact that she trusts him enough to guide her makes his chest swell with pride.

"_Relax_, Lola," he murmurs, "That's what's next."

She glances at him quizzically. He steps closer, his heart climbing into his throat, and gently grabs a hold of her wrists. He pauses for an infinitesimal moment, asking permission with his eyes if it's all right to touch her like this. Her face doesn't hold any signs of warning, so he continues. He drapes her silken arms around his shoulders and then takes another step to her. Their bodies are half a foot apart. He can smell her shampoo so strongly now it's making his head swim.

He glances at her waist and wonders if it's okay to put his hands there. _Por que no?_ She already let him move her arms, right? So he lifts his own and with featherlike pressure, grabs a hold of her hips.

He sucks in an inaudible breath. She's just as soft as she looks in her civvies.

And now that they're standing so close, he remembers how _small_ she really is. He always forgets. He's been next to her up close before, but usually with armor on. The armor bulks her up in width and height. Not to mention her prowess on the battlefield makes her appear larger than life more often than not, like she's some holy, massive deity.

But now that there's nothing between them but air, he can't help but marvel at her size. His heavy palms all but engulf her hipbones and he's a good head taller than her, looking down the bridge of her nose again and admiring her long, dark lashes. Her eyes travel up until they meet his and he has to think about something _other_ than how good she feels this close to him.

"Better?" she breathes.

They're close enough where they can hear each other perfectly over the music, but she murmurs anyway. Like she's _trying_ to get him to lean in closer. _Damn it, Lola_.

"Sure, sure," he nods, trying to control the waver in his voice.

Shit, if Esteban could see him now.

"Ready for the next step, Lieutenant," she smirks with her tempting eyes, tilting her head up at him.

He nods once, and then twice as if to confirm his next move for himself. He glances down at their feet and then ducks his gaze back to her.

"Just follow my feet," he instructs.

She agrees and he feels her hands clasp at the nape of his neck in preparation. The cool flesh of her wrists sends shivers up and down his spine. He flexes his hands on her hips and then right on beat, he takes them away.

He keeps the footwork simple for her. The drum beat guides him. His foot back, hers forward, back, forward, back, forward, side, side, up, up. Shepard's a quick learner. She follows his movements with practiced ease, a slight wrinkle of concentration barely present on her brow. It doesn't take her long to fall into the rhythm with him, and pretty soon they're moving right along with the music without a hitch.

"Where'd you learn to dance like this?" she asks once she's able to look up from his feet.

He shrugs and feels her soft arms on his shoulders.

"This is what we do for fun back home," he muttered, "I mean…this is fairly simple stuff because you're just starting out and I'm a little rusty. Nothing like how I used to dance when I was a teenager."

He remembers those nights well. Before he got his shit together and sought out the Alliance, he would hit the club every night with his buddies. A girl on each arm, grinding, sweating, grunting –there was always something deeply intimate about dancing to him. Probably because it was such a huge part of his culture. But there was the obvious too –the way you could become one with a person, and how you could get _away_ with running your hands up and down a girl's bare stomach on the dance floor while she whipped her hair in your face.

"How'd you used to dance when you were a teenager?" Shepard asks, innocently.

He coughs.

"Why don't we save that for another lesson, ah?"

_Jesus_.

Thankfully, she doesn't press him any further on the subject. He's artfully made the footwork trickier to distract her. And he knows her well enough to know she's not about to slip up on his watch. Her lips press together in concentration and he has a _marviloso_ time watching the sexy earnest etched on her face as she focuses on following his movements exactly.

They fall into rhythm easily once more as she masters the new material. He starts to laugh just to hear the sound and spins her out of his grasp a little just for the hell of it. She throws back her head and laughs too. It's one of the most beautiful sounds he's ever fucking heard. Her smile gleams. Her eyes come alive.

"How am I doing?" she asks when he spins her back and she loops her arms around his neck again.

Her hips roll into his hands and he drums his fingers there for a split second, just enjoying the sensation.

"_Mucho mejor,"_ he nods, "You don't look like you've got a stick jammed up your-"

Her eyes blaze in a hooded, warning look that terrifies him as much as it turns him on.

"Care to finish that sentence, Lieutenant?" she purrs as they step back together on beat and then cut to the side into the empty docking bay.

"No ma'am."

He can't keep of how long they dance. It feels like seconds. It might be an hour. Or two. It doesn't really _matter_. For once it feels like there's nothing to worry about that can't be worried about tomorrow. The music erases the weight of their responsibilities. It erases the heavy bags under Shepard's eyes, too. Her skin grows ruddy with heat and her eyes glisten when she laughs. Her body is rejuvenated, and for the record, so is his.

Her hips twist and roll in his palms and her laughter fills up every corner of his body. The music warms his blood and he thinks for a fleeting instant that maybe, just maybe, they can win this war.

If moments like this are still possible, then there's still hope.


	9. Tatuaje

_Bioware owns my greek yogurt and these characters._

_Woah. I definitely intended for this to be a really short, quick chapter but once I started writing I found I couldn't stop! The Vega muse never ends for me, apparently._

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Tatuaje**

He's disappointed.

But really, what did he expect? Did he think just because she came down and took him up on his dancing offer that she'd suddenly be head over heels for him, jumping at every chance to see him and inviting him up to her cabin?

Well –yeah, actually, he _did_. It was a stupid hope but he happened to be just as idealistic as he was impulsive, and the fantasy had sustained him for a while. He really should have expected her indifference, though. He hadn't _done_ anything but show her a couple of moves. He hadn't been brave enough to say something worthwhile. Like, _I want you_, or _I think you're amazing_ –nothing. He'd kept his trap shut the whole time besides a few quips here and there. And in his cowardice, he'd sewn his downfall.

In the days that passed, _nothing_ changed between them. The storybook ending he'd hoped for fizzled out. They passed like ships in the night throughout the Normandy. He'd get onto the elevator and she'd get off it with just a fucking _nod_ in his direction. He'd hear reports that she was up on the crew deck and go to investigate only to find out she'd left moments before and he'd be sucked into trying to one-up Scars for an hour and a half instead. Even out in the field she acted just the same –there was no fire in her eyes for him, no longing passion ignited by his intricate footwork that night in the cargo bay, no _nada_.

Esteban tried his damn hardest not to say _I told you so_, but James could still see it in his face when he talked to him about it. It was true. He had no one to blame but himself. To Shepard, his dance lesson was probably just a peace offering. An apology for being such a dick to her when they first left Earth. How could she have known he put his whole heart into that night they spent dancing? How could she have known she left his body electrified for hours, _days_ afterwards by just having her arms around his shoulders? She couldn't. He hadn't told her. And now he was paying the price for it.

So he spent his time doing what he did best. _Brooding_.

Even Esteban knew better than to try and get him to talk in this kind of mood. Besides, what else was there to say that James didn't already know? He _knew_ how to tell Shepard he was interested. But the fact remained that he still couldn't bring himself to do it. He talked big when he was around her with the flirting and shit but when he tried to tackle the idea of actually approaching her about how he felt he retreated like a little _puta_ with his tail between his legs.

Pathetic, really. And the fact that he'd acknowledged it himself only pissed him off further.

But how are you supposed to tell someone like _Shepard_ you've got the hots for them? Especially when you're just a grunt who's never done anything close to as heroic as she's built her career off of. How are you supposed to tell your _hero _that you're in love with them?

Yeah, it sounds corny as shit but it's true. Shepard was his hero long before he even met her. Hell, she was a hero to a lot of people. Most of his buddies looked up to her too. The first human Spectre, the savior of the Citadel –she was the biggest shit to ever hit the Alliance and he climbed on the bandwagon of her extensive fan base.

And then he met her.

He still remembers that day crystal clear. It's poignant. Sticks out in his memory a little sharper than he'd like to admit.

It was a few months after he lost his squad and got promoted. There was nothing left to do after Shepard destroyed the Collector base and a lot of people went back to civilian life while they had the chance. James took some leave off to make an ass of himself on Omega playing poker. It wasn't exactly the most noble way of going about things but he was pissed. Angry. Confused. _Scared_ even. He was still having nightmares at that point, reliving the mission over and over again until he woke up in a cold sweat with his chest heaving. Omega was the perfect place to loose himself in and ignore his responsibilities

That particular night, he was playing a game and had it pretty much in his pocket already when the television overhead started a newscast talking about Shepard's stunt with the Batarian system. They were calling her a _terrorist_. Making it sound like the Batarian's were the ones who were innocent. They mentioned something about wanting her head and he decided he had enough.

He remembers calmly getting up from his seat, marching to the other side of the room and ripping the damn thing off the wall before the newscaster could get another word in. Blue sparks flew and crackled and he tossed it onto the floor where it sputtered out and died.

Didn't make the Batarian's he was playing with too happy (or the bartender for that matter) and they started to jeer at him.

"_You a Shepard lover, human?"_ one had asked him.

Kind of ironic to think about it now. Guess he loved her back then too, before he knew about how her eyes smirked and how smooth her skin was. Before he knew how human could be when her face softened, before he knew how she had demons like all the rest of them.

Loved her in a different way, of course. Like a little kid loves his favorite character from a show. Anyway, the comment didn't rub him the right way and he unleashed a month of pent up rage on the group of Batarians. He smashed faces, broke tables, threw one poor bastard off a balcony. He took out all four of them singlehandedly, too (not that he likes to brag or anything). But not without bloodying himself up pretty good in the process. He was spouting like a sprinkler from a wound in his forehead and one in his arm when Admiral Anderson, of all people, showed up and fired a shot over his head to stop the scuffle.

"_Dust yourself off and come with me, that's an order._"

He went begrudgingly, holding the cut over his head to try and staunch the flow of blood. He was shaking so hard he could barely walk. The rage in him hadn't been spent yet. He was ready to hit the next thing that got in his way. He wanted to feel more bones break under his knuckles. Taste more blood on his teeth.

But Anderson wasn't having any of it. He led him to the shuttle bay with deliberate steps and a hard face.

"_It's time you got over the incident on Fehl. Time for you to be the soldier we expect of you."_

Of course, it would be a long time coming before James would "get over it". (In fact, it would take him getting blown apart by a Marauder on Tuchanka and having someone sit at his bedside afterwards for him to come to finally come to terms with it.)

But it didn't really matter then. He was barely listening to what Anderson had to say. He was shaking with fury, free hand clenched into a fist and chest swelling with breath left over from the fight. Anderson told him he was going to Earth. Which of course he bitched and moaned about. There was nothing on Earth left for him. But Anderson thought differently.

_"Just throw me in the goddamn brig and be done with it,"_ James had almost softened his voice into a beg. But it came out of his mouth harsh and hot. Blood flew from his lips as he spat the words out, each one like a bullet.

_"You're not far off, Lieutenant. –only, you'll be guarding the brig. One prisoner in particular."_

They rounded the corner to the Alliance shuttle and there she was. He'd only seen her on vids before. It was _nothing_ like seeing her in person. Of course his first instinct was to marvel at how _sexy_ she was in person. Holoscreens didn't do her velvet skin or her electric eyes any justice. Her hair was cut at her jaw-line then, black as the night. He had balked in her presence.

And after he managed to push his hormones aside, there was a whole new wave of awe. Hishero was standing right in front of him.

"_Commander…Shepard?"_ he'd asked.

Her eyes didn't smile then. She had her hands clasped behind her back and she gave him a discrete nod of greeting before shifting her eyes back to Anderson who began to speak again. But James wasn't listening. The rage seeped out of his body and a humbleness took its place. There he was, bloody, beaten and out about six hundred credits, standing with a legend.

That was the first inkling he got that maybe things would turn out all right after all.

But he didn't know then how _bad_ she would get to him. He had no way of predicting just how deeply ensnared he'd be by her charm, her shotgun artistry, her raw power and her well-protected weak spots.

He's so wrapped up in her now he can barely concentrate on the Reapers. That tight, buoyant feeling in his stomach is back. His veins are about ready to explode. He can't sleep at night. If he's not thinking about her, he's thinking about Earth. If he's not thinking about Earth, he's thinking about his squad. If he's not thinking about anything, he usually defaults to Shepard undressing. And the vicious cycle continues.

He gets one night alone with her and _this_ is the aftermath.

Women aren't worth this fucking trouble, _ay_.

Or maybe Shepard is. But it would be great if he could just get the _cajones_ to talk to her.

They land on the Citadel for a little downtime. He feels like hasn't seen her in a week. Just fleeting glances, waves across the room. The genophage is cured. He should be concentrating on that. On what the Turian-Krogan peace means for the war. But all he can think about is her and how goddamn frustrating it is to still be just a grunt looking up to his unobtainable hero.

He's still sitting there stewing about it on the loading docks, getting new ink on his back, when she makes a surprise appearance. He's grateful his soldiers instincts are intact enough to keep him still even when his heart starts to go at a million miles an hour. No telling what the Batarian behind him might fuck up if he made a sudden movement.

"James?"

She rounds the corner fully and he watches her maddeningly _azul_ eyes smooth over the rest of his tattoos and his bare chest. He inhales a quick breath to puff it out a bit.

"Commander, long time no see," he says, "What brings you down here?"

She shifts her weight. Her eyes turn up in the corners, long lashes playing shadows on her cheeks.

"I was about to ask you that."

Oh –right. The tattoo. He hadn't really openly discussed the N7 invitation to her. It was on his mind during their talk when he was in the med bay, and for a good while afterwards. Her words had played back to him over and over again. _You're a damn good soldier, James. Don't let your guilt define you_.

He wasn't sure he ever wanted to lead again until she'd pulled that one on him. Her confidence in him was enough. He'd made his decision the moment it left her lips, really. Now he was just making it official.

He nods.

"I never got around to telling you, but somehow even with all the shit that's goin' on, somebody somewhere managed to track me down and forward an N7 commendation. It was dated the same day the Reapers attacked Earth."

He winces as the needle in his back runs over his ribs and continues.

"At first I wasn't too keen on giving them a yes, but after we had our little chat when I was on my ass in the med-bay, I rethought it."

"I take it you're accepting?" she smiles a little.

"Provided that there's still a division after the war, yeah," he says.

"And…you're celebrating by getting a tattoo?" she asks.

Her mouth forms around skepticism, it's always a look and tone he's enjoyed coming from her.

He laughs.

"Sort of…see, there's no official channels to go through right now. So, I guess this is my way of makin' it official."

The needle sends a rocket of pain through his ribs and he hisses to the Batarian behind him.

"_Ay,_ watch it_._"

The Batarian doesn't bat an eye. He's not much of a talker.

"I think that's great, James," Shepard says and he turns his attention back to her. Her words sound sincere. She really does look happy for him. That only makes what he's doing feel _more_ right.

He shrugs a soft amount so as not to upset the Batarian's steady hand behind him.

"Technically, I'm just an N7 recruit but…y'know, I figure with you as my training officer, how could I fail?"

His words are sincere too. There's no one else he could imagine training him even if the circumstances were different. Even if the universe wasn't getting blown to shit by Reapers, even if everything was _normal_. He'd still only want to answer to her.

She stares at him hard with that hooded blue gaze.

"I'm flattered, but I wouldn't exactly say I'm training you," she says.

He tilts his head, "Not officially, but what the hell is in this goddamn war?"

Her look softens. A warm fire burns in his stomach.

"I'm just sayin', whether you like it or not, you're my direct superior, and you're N7. So I take my leave from you., " he smirks a bit, "And y'know, I'll take whatever advice you got."

Her eyes turn up in the corners and the sarcasm drips from her lips.

"_Really_?"

"Sure," he says and his eyes flash at her playfully, "The _good_ advice."

She leans back and folds her arms.

"Well, they wouldn't ask you if they didn't think you could handle it."

Her confidence in him pulls his mouth back in a smile.

"Here's hopin'."

She suddenly points a finger at him. Her voice is firm but he sees the playfulness in her eyes.

"But the real work starts now."

"Uh huh," he mutters.

. There's a pause. He lowers his jokes for a moment and looks at her. _Really_ looks at her. This is important and he wants her to hear it.

"Look, I know it seems like I don't take things seriously, but when I commit to something, I _fully_ commit."

It's one of the mottos he's come to live by. Don't do _anything_ half assed. He sees the recognition in her eyes. She understands he's serious. But her eyes smile a little bit and he watches her gaze flit back to the Batarian working on his shoulder piece.

"Clearly."

But he's not finished. He swallows familiar tightness in his throat and nods at her.

"Hey."

Her eyes find his. Their gazes get tangled.

"I won't let you down," he promises.

And it's not just about N7. He's not sure if she'll read into how deep that promise goes, but he hopes some part of her will. Because this isn't a promise he intends to break. He won't let her down –not with N7, not with this war, not with anything.

She thanks him with her eyes but gestures a silken hand in his direction.

"The only person you need to prove yourself to is the one standing in the mirror every morning."

Well, ain't that the truth.

"Good point," he murmurs.

And then the seriousness fades out of their conversation. There is a small lull of silence and then she really smiles. Just with one side of her mouth, her dark lips go into a tantalizing crescent shape. His hands feel clammy.

"Y'know, that's gonna sting for a few days. You gonna be ready for duty?"

"Always," he deadpans.

Then, he smiles. And his deadly mouth-before-brain syndrome hits again. His lips start moving before he can get a reign on them.

"Hey, maybe we should get matching," he gives her a crooked smirk, eyes flashing like a predator.

She bites.

"You want _me_ to get an N7 tattoo?"

"Oh come on, Commander. I've seen that cute little flower on your hip, _ah?_ Don't act like you're above getting a little ink."

Her eyebrows raise. _Shit_.

Well if she hadn't known about him staring at her before when she was stripping armor, she _definitely _knows now. _Smooth, Vega_. She decides not to comment, and his mouth tries to make up for the awkward lull in conversation. Unfortunately his mouth has never been particularly good at damage control.

"Besides, you don't have to get an N7 one. Maybe you could get my name done…somewhere special."

He gives her an eyebrow waggle to trump all other eyebrow waggles. It takes a half a second for him to register what the fuck just came out of his mouth. _Jesus Christ_ –did he really just say that to Commander fucking Shepard?

Her arms unfold and to his surprise, instead of crushing his balls while he's vulnerable, she props a hand on her hips and grins at him.

"You are such a tease, Vega," she purrs.

And this time, she _really_ purrs. Her husky voice becomes sultry and even. His skin comes alive with fire. He's genuinely dumbstruck and his mouth falls open a little bit. _Holy mother of hell what the fuck is happening._

_ "_Who, me?" he asks innocently, his poker face masterfully still intact.

Then, she hits him with one he's not ready for.

"You ever gonna make good on all this flirting?"

Wait.

What did she just say?

Was that a goddamn invitation?

"W-uhhh…I…I was just…" he scrambles for words and for once they don't come. He can't get anything out. His brain has stopped functioning. The English language is gone, as is his native one. His eyes shift around in his head and a sweat breaks out along his bare skin. He suddenly feels _entirely_ too naked in front of her.

"I didn't mean to…y'know…uhh…I was just…"

He babbles incoherently until she cuts him off with a husky note of laughter.

"That's what I thought," she chuckles. Her impish eyes flash like jewels in her head and her mouth turns up, smirking like the cat that ate the canary.

She turns to leave, the light outlining the curve from the small of her back to her glorious behind.

"Later, Lieutenant," she purrs.

"Later," he chokes out.

And thank _God_ he at least remembered that word. She saunters out of the dock area and he releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"_Ay Dios mio,"_ he hisses.

"Nice going," the Batarian _capullo_ behind him speaks up.

James growls.

"Ay, quiet back there,_ hombre_. I'm paying you for the tattoo not your goddamn opinion."

The Batarian says nothing more.

James rubs at his eyes and sighs deeply.

Well.

_Fuck_.


	10. Mentiras

_Bioware owns my box of tissues and these characters._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing, loves! Always appreciated! xoxoxo_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

_**Mentiras**  
_

What a fucking day.

What a goddamn fucking day.

After his tattoo heals up, he never really gets a chance to make good on Shepard's invitation. There's just one thing after another in the days that follow, he can barely keep up. Time passes in a blur. And then all of a sudden they're back on the Citadel.

Except this time it's swarming with Cerberus troops. The legendary station is up in flames. C-Sec is getting torn to shit, civilians are hiding out under tables and locking themselves in their apartments, and at the end of it all Shepard has to watch a friend get a sword through the gut and aim her gun at another's face.

What a_ fucking_ day.

When all is said and done, he, Doc and Major Alenko (who still needs a nickname that isn't openly derogatory) are sitting on the shuttle waiting for Shepard. The Normandy had to pull out of the docks to make room for the relief squads and the ever-steady flow of refugees who are still hoping that the Citadel is a safe haven after all.

So Esteban brings the shuttle down and the three of them get on it and wait for her. She's going to visit the Drell at Huerta. Thane, right? He helped her stop the Collectors. And by Liara's grieving face, apparently he was a good friend.

No one speaks on the shuttle. Everyone's exhausted. James is too, for the record. He passes his eyes around the small space. Doc has her elbows propped up on her knees and her head lowered. And he's not too keen on trying to make conversation with Major Alenko.

_(Major Puppy? Whiny? Bitchface?_ Nothing's really sticking yet. He'll keep trying.)

So James rubs a scuffed spot on the kneepad of his armor for what feels like years. And after ten minutes of waiting, Shepard's voice finally comes through the speakers.

"_I'm on my way back_."

Everyone picks their heads up. Liara's face crumples. And James knows why. There's something startlingly different in Shepard's tone. The huskiness is still there, but it's tired and worn. Like it physically pains her to get words out.

"Shepard…is Thane-?" Liara whispers.

"_He didn't make it."_

The reply is curt. Low. Liara closes her eyes.

"Goddess, _no_."

And then the shuttle is silent. Esteban takes it to the loading strip and opens up the doors when he gets sight of Shepard. The doors whisk open and she climbs aboard, her helmet and armor still intact. The dim light from the loading bay illuminates her armor. It's new. Mordin upgraded the whole team before he died. The material on hers now is off-white -in the right light it's tinged pale violet. Liara stands to put a hand on her shoulder but Shepard brushes past her. She looks like an iridescent ghost as she shoulders her way into the shuttle and takes a seat in the back.

She doesn't remove her helmet. In fact, she doesn't do anything. The shuttle door closes and Steve takes to the air. The Commander just sits there. Like she's made of stone. James would have argued the armor was empty if he didn't notice the soft swell of her chest plate when she inhaled and exhaled. She's so _still_. Something is wrong.

"Commander?" he can't help but ask.

But he feels a soft pressure on his forearm. Liara's blue hand tightens around his armor to get his attention. He looks over at her and she shakes her head silently to deter him.

His brow creases and he looks back over at Shepard. She still hasn't moved. She makes no indication that she even heard him.

He passes a glance at Major Alenko who looks just as disgruntled. But apparently _he _knows better than to talk to her right now. He remembers that first day the Reapers hit Earth. How he'd been jealous that the Commander turned around with a smile when Alenko appeared.

He'd asked him, a little childishly, when Shepard was gone, "_You know the Commander?"_

"_I used to_."

James wondered what the fuck that was supposed to mean, or why he had to be so goddamn dramatic about it. But didn't press the matter. He merely let himself stew and be envious of what a past with Shepard might entail for Major Alenko.

_(Cupcake? Major Dickhead?)_

They meet eyes for a moment and James rips his away to concentrate back on Shepard. He's worried as hell. Shepard always bounces back from this shit. That's what she _does_. It's a selfish expectation, he knows it, but she's always the one who's strong for everyone else. She _doesn't_ break.

But she's lost two friends in this week alone. And Earth looses more memories and people by the second. Maybe it's about time she broke.

The shuttle ride back to the Normandy is silent. It's late. When Esteban pulls into the cargo hold everyone else starts to exit, ready to put the day behind them and hope for a night without nightmares. Major Alenko exits first, but pauses to glance over his shoulder at Shepard with sad, puppy-dog eyes. James almost wants to get up and shove him out of the shuttle. _Move your ass, Major Twinkletoes._

He does, finally. And then Doc exits. She looks at James with a soft glance. _Make sure she's all right_, her eyes seems to say. Or at least that's how he's going take it. He gives her a delicate nod and then she leaves too. Esteban moves next. He knows better than to stick around. He touches James's shoulder in passing.

"Night, _hermano_."

James nods and watches as the group makes their way to the elevator at the opposite end. They disappear from sight and he hears the familiar ping of the doors closing. Then, there's silence. Everyone else is either asleep or somewhere else on the Normandy. The shuttle bay is empty and black.

Shepard still hasn't moved. The shadows encase her. Only through little patches of light can he see bits of her pearly armor. He clears his throat.

"You okay, Commander?" he asks.

She doesn't answer. She doesn't move. She gives him nothing to work with.

If she wants to be alone, then it's too damn bad. He's not leaving her like this. Not a chance in hell.

"You wanna talk about it or somethin'?" he tries again.

N_ada_. Not even a _Fuck off, Lieutenant_ or anything. He almost _wishes_ she would snap at him. At least then he'd know she was okay enough to do that. But her silence is really fucking unsettling. It's like she's not there anymore. Like some part of her is missing. Lost.

"S'alright, we don't have to talk about it. We can just sit here, that's cool," he leans back and puts his arms behind his head, "I've got nowhere I gotta be."

So they sit. He doesn't try to coax anything out of her. She needs time, probably. And so he'll give her that time. But he's not going to give her any privacy. The thought of leaving her down here alone in the dark to just _sit_ and think about it all makes his blood burn. He promised her he'd never let her down, didn't he?

So he's not fucking budging.

He doesn't have any way to tell the time so it passes in agonizingly slow increments. He keeps his eyes trained on her for a while to see if there's any sign of movement, but as the minutes pass and still nothing happens, he directs his eyes elsewhere. The hull of the ship, the dark control panels, that annoying scuff on his knee, the gleam of Shepard's armor.

He thought he'd miss the dark armor. But the lustrous white makes her look practically angelic on the battlefield. Like some quick moving jewel, a flash of light in the midst of the darkness. It's fitting, he thinks. Her armor coincides with her image -the beacon in the night, the pearl in the dark sea.

All of a sudden, she moves. The armor flashes and winks in the dark and he snaps his attention back to her, watching her graceful body stand from the back of the shuttle. He himself doesn't move an inch. He's so surprised by her mobility that he doesn't dare say anything or do anything, for fear she'll shrink back and become frozen again.

He watches with narrowed, protective eyes as she steps out of the shuttle and onto the platform. Her boots click on the metal there. The dim emergency lights overhead illuminate her. There is a sharp hiss of air releasing from her suit and he watches as she slides her helmet off with her back to him.

She stands with it clutched in her hand for a few silent seconds. All he can see is the back of her head, the shine of her dark cropped hair. He opens his mouth to say something when all of a sudden her fist charges dark blue energy. In turn, the helmet starts to glow and crackle too.

She swings her arm back with one fluid movement and then hurls the charged helmet across the shuttle bay with incredible force. She roars and the hollow sound is lost by the clatter of crates and equipment at the far end of the room where her helmet makes thunderous contact with the other wall.

James blinks.

_Well, all right then._

Then, he smirks. He's never seen the Commander so unhinged. It's kind of _fun_. Shit, she deserves to throw a temper tantrum every now and then, right? He's kind of intrigued to see what else she might do. Shockwave the weapon-loading bench? Throw a crate into the wall? Hell, this might turn out to be a show worth waiting for.

He watches her to see what she'll do next. But instead of charging up another fist, her hand relaxes to her side.

She falls ungracefully to her knees.

And suddenly it's not so funny anymore.

"Hey-"

He's up from his seat seconds after she hits the ground. He crouches beside her and takes a good look.

He's never seen anyone look so goddamn broken in his life. And he's seen a lot of broken people. She's sitting there with her head bowed and her hands in her lap. Her eyes are staring holes through the middle of her palms, as if the answers are in there somewhere.

When he crouches beside her she closes her eyes, as if she's just remembered she has an audience.

"Lola," he murmurs.

She doesn't look at him. Her body starts to shake. There are no tears, but her shoulders quiver like something inside her is trying to break free. A sinewy muscle in her jaw jumps. He can see a vein beating at her temple. For a moment he thinks the emotion is fury, but the way her brows come together and her lips turn down –it's just like that face she gave him in Purgatory. Just like the one he watched on the vid.

She's doing everything in her power to keep her agony contained. But the pain leaks out in all the places he's spent his stint on the Normandy admiring. The trembling shape of her mouth, the tightness in her lean shoulders, the fine line of her jaw that tightens as she clenches her teeth together, the smooth, olive-skin that looses color the longer she sits there.

He's at a loss for a moment. What are you supposed to _do_ when your hero breaks?

What happens when an angel falls of her pedestal right before your eyes?

He sucks in a breath and works on instinct, rather than try to assign any logic to his actions.

He reaches forward and pulls her into his arms. She doesn't resist him. And her smaller torso folds against his. His arms come around her shoulders and he encloses her in his protective vice. He feels her every tremble. The heat of her body comes through her armor.

Her hands come up and wrap around the inside of his forearm and she holds on to him for dear life.

He holds her back. Because that's all he knows how to do.

"_No te preocupes_, Lola," he murmurs at her ear, "_Todo va a estar bien_."

He knows she doesn't understand what he's saying, but it doesn't matter.

It's probably a lie anyway.


	11. Sueños

_Bioware owns my hormones and these characters._

_Thank you guys so much! I am still just amazed to see the amount of people reading and reviewing and so thankful for all of you! You all make me smile so much. I'm really excited you're all enjoying this story. It started out just as a little time-passer for me because I thought it would be fun and now I'm so invested in it and you guys have made me so excited about it! I can't thank you enough, really. Keep on reading and reviewing, cuties!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Sueños**

Two days pass. He doesn't see much of Shepard. He's pretty sure she's not avoiding _him_, but rather the Normandy as a whole. _Nobody_ has really gotten a glimpse of her. Sure, she comes down for meals but usually brings it back up to her cabin. And apparently she went to the war room to get linked up with Admiral Anderson for a half an hour the day before. But that's as social as she's gotten.

Other than that, Shepard has kind of disappeared. There are no immediate missions, to her credit. The engineers are making some repairs while they have a slow moment. There's nothing to do but sit and wait –things he knows Shepard is fucking terrible at. She fades like a ghost into the Normandy.

Needless to say, he's worried.

The first time he sees her after the incident in the shuttle bay sparks his concern even further, as if it weren't burning through him already.

Dr. Chakwas had called in him for a check up to see how his side was healing. He was inches away from opening the door to the med bay when he heard Shepard's voice. Like music he'd forgotten the words to but he's body hadn't forgotten how to respond to.

Muffled, but unmistakable. The husky, velvet tone of her voice made his stomach feel weightless. But the voice was stil pulled tight and strained, like each word was being dragged out of the pits of her stomach and taking parts of her with it.

"_And you don't have anything stronger_?" she'd been asking.

Chakwas responded in a soft, uneasy voice, "_I'm afraid if the dosage was any stronger, _waking up_ would become the problem, Commander._

James decided he needed to see her face right then and let the doors whisk open as if he'd just arrived. He put on a grin to ward off any suspicion of his eavesdropping and passed his eyes over the two women. His grin loosened a bit when he saw Shepard.

She looked like shit. And that was really saying something, because even covered in blood and sweat and dirt she still managed to look good to him. It wasn't that she'd _lost_ anything. Everything he'd memorized for his fantasies was still there.

The smooth, even freshness of her skin, the disheveled hair, the eyes so blue and deep they could have passed for violet. No, it was all still there. But it was more like she'd _gained_ things that chipped away at her usually striking appearance. Heaviness on her shoulders, bags under her eyes, a creepy, unsettling darkness to her face.

Her eyes flickered a little guiltily as he entered. As if she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to by talking to Chakwas. She straightened up a little and the tiredness on her face vanished. A steely, cool look replaced it and she gave him a nod.

"Lieutenant," she murmured.

He held onto her eyes as long as he could before she ripped hers away. He didn't really blame her. He'd seen her more vulnerable than maybe anyone else on this ship. (_How do you like _that_, Major Jackass?_) Not that it was anything to be smug about. It made her uncomfortable, which in turn made him feel like an ass for trying to coax something more out of her.

"Ah, James. You're here for your checkup?" Dr. Chakwas artfully avoided the awkward silence after he and Shepard's heated look.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded and tore his eyes away with some effort.

"I've got to take care of some things," Shepard excused herself.

She shouldered around him and he almost thought about reaching out and grabbing her wrist, but thought better of it.

"Take care, Shepard," Chakwas called after her.

The doors wished closed behind her and James released a breath. A heaviness left the room with her. He glanced at the closed doors with dark eyes. Shit. This was _muy grave_. He'd never seen her like_ that_ before.

"What's wrong with her?" he blurted out.

Chakwas -busy readying her omni-tool to check on the minute cybernetics used to repair the hole in his side- didn't seem to mind his lack of tact. Her eyes didn't meet his but she leveled a sigh.

"She's entirely too stoic for her own good," she said in exasperation, "But she's also having trouble sleeping, she tells me. I've given her some medication that's supposed to keep her from dreaming but it doesn't seem to be doing any good," she continued.

James lifted his shirt when he was instructed, his head buzzing. Chakwas ran the omni-tool close to the stitching at his ribs.

"I'd be havin' nightmares too if I had that kind of weight on my shoulders," James murmured.

"I imagine we all would," the older woman sighed.

James swallowed. There was silence as she ran her various tests. But his head was screaming. His mouth burned with questions he wanted to ask. How long had she not been sleeping? What kind of medication was she on? Why wasn't it working? While he was busy contemplating, Chakwas finished her examination. Her omni-tool faded and she motioned to him to put his shirt back on.

"Everything looks like it's holding up, James. I'd say you're good as new."

He shrugged his shirt back on over his dark shoulders and tugged at the hem. He toyed with his burning curiosity. He wasn't sure he wanted to arouse suspicion as to just _how_ he felt about Shepard, but he found he couldn't _not_ investigate.

"You…you think she'll be okay?"

Chakwas met his eyes finally. A soft flicker in them signaled that she did _indeed _see right past his secrecy and knew just what he was up to by asking. But she didn't comment. And for that, he was all kinds of grateful. He figured talking about how great Shepard's ass was, was a lot easier in front of Steve –even if he didn't share the appreciation- than it would be in front of Dr. Chakwas.

"The Commander is the strongest woman I know," she said, "She'll find a way to overcome what this week has brought her."

James nodded and went to go, deterred by the slight spark in her eye that made it seem like she knew more than she was letting on when it came to him and his questioning.

"Thanks for the check up, Gloria."

When he was a kid, his best friend's _madre_ was named Gloria. She took care of everyone. Put him in his place a few times when he needed it when he was growing up. He respected the hell out of that woman.

Chakwas never did ask where her nickname came from. She just went along with it. Which made the homage even more appropriate.

"James," she called to him just as the doors peeled open.

He turned back.

"Shepard will find a way through this -but in the mean time I think it might do her some good to learn to lean on someone."

Chakwas eyes smiled. But unlike the look on Shepard -which usually translated to sex appeal and smugness- Chakwas's look was all-knowing. Like some goddamn, wise-ass fairy godmother who just pretty much told him she knew _exactly_ how long he'd been pining after his Commander.

Fuck, she really was Gloria reincarnated. Could never hide a damn thing from that woman.

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled and made a bee-line out the door and to the elevator as _rápidamente_as his feet would take him.

Afterwards in the hangar, he tells Esteban everything that happened. He hasn't opened up to anyone about what happened to the Commander after the attack on the Citadel before this. It wasn't his place to go around telling everyone just how many pieces he'd seen her break into. It was personal. And he respects her privacy.

But his head is fucking _swarming_ with thoughts. He can't get anything straight. Nothing productive was going to come out of him until he cleared it a little. Esteban is a trustworthy confidant, he's proved that time and time again.

So he confesses.

Every little fucking insignificant detail that has been prickling inside his head. Shepard's face, the fear in her eyes, how _tightly_ she had held onto him when he'd gathered her shaking body into his arms, how she wasn't sleeping. (Jesus, he can't even _imagine_ all the kinds of fucked up Shepard's nightmares must be).

Esteban listens through the whole thing. He was pretty damn patient, too. James isn't always as articulate as he wants to be -but he tries his damn hardest to get his point across.

At the end of it all, he thinks his explanation is pretty damn successful. Esteban considers all he's heard for a moment and then hits him with his 'great idea'.

Send her an email.

A _fucking_ email.

He just poured his goddamn soul and _that's_ the best advice he has to offer?

But he does it anyway. Because he's out of any other ideas.

Surprinsg how goddamn _difficult _it is to try and write a professional email to Shepard without making it sound like he's worried, or too protective or whining at her. You'd think it would be _facil_, just a little quick note about wanting to talk when she got the chance.

But instead he spends _fourty-five_ fucking minutes on the thing. Nit-picking, deleting, adding, subtracting, occasionally reading bits aloud to Esteban when he comes and pokes his head around the corner to see how he's fairing –until he starts coming around every five _segundos_ and it gets old.

"_Jesus_, how am I supposed to work with you breathin' down my neck, _hombre?_ Give me some space!"

He toils and tinkers away at it until he's finally got the finished product. He re-reads it a few times, scrutinizing every word. He was never particularly good with written language. Always liked to talk something out to get it settled –either with his mouth, or his fists. (Or his dick, really, but that doesn't quite apply here).

He clears his throat after he's finished the sixth re-read and hits the send button like it'll burn him if he doesn't do it fast enough. A deep exhale flows out of him.

"_Qué __he hecho yo_," he sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. He tosses the data pad aside.

"You send it?" Esteban calls over.

"Yeah," he grunts.

"_Gracias a Dios."_

James gives him a rather offensive gesture with his hand over his shoulder. Not sure if he sees it or not, but he really doesn't care. His head is still spinning.

Fuck, she probably hasn't even checked her mail yet and his hands are sweaty and his heart is about to ram right out of his chest.

Esteban appears behind him.

"You know what you're going to say when you get up there?"

"No," James murmurs.

"Think maybe you should figure that out?"

"_No_," James hisses.

Esteban is smirking. James turns a narrow look over his shoulder and watches as the man holds up his hands, as if to surrender, and slowly backs away.

"Okay, okay, sit there and brood, then."

"I will."

He's left in peace after that to wait. And so he does. He waits, and he waits, and he waits. He tries to get some work done but his hands fumble and his head refuses to hold onto a thought for more than a second.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting. He waits all day. He waits until most everyone starts heading up to the crew deck for some shut eye. It's him and Esteban left. James kind of thinks Esteban's waiting around to hear from Shepard too. Like he's _rooting_ for him or something.

He's a good guy. An even better friend for putting up with all of this shit from him.

James sighs and stands. He cracks his neck and his knuckles. Enough waiting. It's probably better to turn in for the night. She probably hasn't even checked her mail yet–there's no use in staying up and depriving himself of sleep when they've got some big shit waiting in the wings for them with this war. Every hour is precious when it comes to his head and his pillow.

He's about to call out to Esteban that he's admitting defeat when the intercom on his workbench crackles.

"_James_."

Her voice comes in husky and low. He inhales sharply through his nostrils and turns his head toward the sound.

"_I've got some time if you want to talk privately_."

He manages to collect himself enough to reach forward and hit the button to relay his voice back to her.

"On my way."

She doesn't respond and he takes it as his cue to go. He crosses back through the cargo hold and Esteban raises his eyebrows at him. James gives him a nod and steels his face as he passes him to get toward the elevator.

And he cant help thinking as soon as he pushes the button for the first level –maybe he _should_ have thought about what he's going to say when he gets up there.

God damn it. Why is that _pendejo_ always right?


	12. Despertar

_Bioware owns my candy fruit slices and these characters._

_Thanks again to everyone who is reading and reviewing! Every bit of feedback I get is really inspiring and appreciated :) Glad to see more people getting the Shega fever!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Despertar**

He doesn't have a plan.

He's always been told to trust his gut as a soldier. Not that it was a new concept for him when he joined the Alliance. When his mother was still alive, she emphasized the power of having trust in oneself. _Sigue tu corazón, _she used to tell him.

_Follow your heart._

He raises a hand and raps his knuckles across the smooth, metal face of Shepard's cabin door. A breath swells in his chest when he hears her voice.

"Come on in, it's open."

Trusting his gut is something he does well. Too well, probably. He trusts it above all else. He trusts it above logic, above fact and above opinion. But there's no rule book. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, it doesn't _give_ a clear answer.

Instinct is an unpredictable bastard.

So he hopes something will come to him as the doors slide apart before him. He expects an idea to present itself as he puts a boot over the threshold. A shred of thought, a whisper of an objective-_anything_. But his mind is a blank haze. He's overwhelmed by the restlessly sweet smell of her cabin and the raw grace with which she stands from the couch.

"Hey," she greets him. Her voice sounds sodamn _tired_.

A familiar feeling roils in his gut. Tight. Buoyant. Immediate.

"Hey," he murmurs, but doesn't stop walking.

_Sigue tu corazón._

He closes the distance between them in a few long strides. And before she can get another word out, he reaches for the side of her face. He cups her jaw in his wide palm and brings her close, finding her satin mouth with his own.

Shepard sucks in a sharp breath through her nose and her body stiffens. Her arms tighten at her sides. He expects a world of pain to descend upon him and almost thinks about pulling back.

But all of a sudden, like someone flipped a switch, her body softens. Her lips respond to his. Her mouth is pliant and soft, just how he imagined it. She tastes sweet. He's not sure he's in the clear until her hand reaches up and comes to rest on his chest. Her fingers curl there just gently. A quiet display of possession. Of desire. Of _need_.

He surfaces out of her ocean to take a breath. He pulls back just an inch. Their noses touch. He doesn't dare open his eyes, afraid if he does it will all disappear. The kiss has left both of them breathless. His own chest quivers and he can feel her cool, trembling exhales on his mouth. He lowers his head a bit and brushes his thumb along the apple of her cheek. Neither of them speak.

He wonders if he's imagining it. If it's all really happening. Did he _honestly _just march into Commander Shepard's personal cabin and kiss her because his gut told him to? Even harder to believe is that she's actually letting it happen.

Her nose brushes against his face and snaps him back into the moment. His eyes are still closed but he can picture every minute detail of her visage. He feels her breath on his bottom lip.

Real. This is _real_.

Her face pushes at his a bit. It might have been a timid movement if he didn't know better. But this is Shepard. There's nothing timid about her. She takes control by kissing gently at the corner of his mouth. Almost like she's testing the waters. Wading into them first so as not to be overwhelmed.

Their mouths meet once more, but this time the kiss is stronger. More impatient. His hand leaves the side of her face and buries in her short hair. The jet black tufts are soft and thick against the grooves of his fingers. He deepens the kiss on instinct and she responds with a sweet gasp into his mouth.

Her head rolls back and she invites him to the warm, olive-toned flesh of her neck. He kisses there with featherlike pressure. Then she returns to him like an ocean wave.

He has no qualms about letting her wash over him completely. He lets her pull him under. He's lost in her steady current. Her lips mold to his between breaths and her hands press grip his sides.

He wraps an arm around her and they practically tango glide to the foot of her bed. The dancing lesson has served her well. Her body oozes grace. There's nothing stiff about this woman. In passion, she's radiant. Dusky cheeks ruddy with rapture, eyes smoldering. This quickly becomes his new favorite look on her. It snubs her smirking eyes and her smiling mouth, even outshines her battlefield earnest.

She peels his shirt off and tosses it aside. The cool air of her cabin hits his burning flesh. He hovers over her as her shoulders press back into the mattress. She gives him a hooded, all-consuming look. Her own shirt dissolves and he marvels at her dark skin. It's smooth and without flaw across her entire torso.

The blue light from the fish tank washes over her side, cups her array of smooth arcs and bows like an old lover. The muscle in her abdomen flexes as she surges up against him, her hands greedy for his shoulders, his chest, the nape of his neck. Her fingers explore the raised scars on his chest and side. Like she's discovering him, reading him with her touch.

He returns the favor. She's fresh as a baby, though. His fingers find nothing but smoothness all along her torso. Cerberus repaired her completely. Any scars before her death have since been eradicated. He wonders if the tiny flower on her hip was there before they built her up from the ground or if she got it after to remind herself that she was still _her_. That her body was still her own.

He swoops down to kiss at her jaw line before she tugs his head back to her and presses her mouth against his. He lets a hand curl under her arched back and he explores the warm skin along her spine. His other hand braces his weight by her head as her hovers over her.

Their combined breath is fast now. A staccato rhythm. They follow it, just as they followed the drums that night in the shuttle bay. It's not much different. Body language has always served them better anyway. They speak to each other with motion. Her body follows his, then his follows hers. They make their own steps. They allow themselves to _forget_ for a little while.

And with each kiss he tries to take some of her darkness away. Every part of her he touches he tries to siphon out some of the crushing weight, some of the fear. And when at the end of it all, when their clothes have faded and their bodies have exhausted, he holds her in sleep and tries his damned hardest to take her nightmares away too.


	13. Cicatrices

_Bioware owns my penchant for shameless fluff and these characters._

_Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing! Really, I get goosebumps and all giddy when I see them. Keep 'em coming, loves!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Cicatrices**

In the morning, he wakes up slowly. At first he doesn't know where the fuck he is. But he doesn't really care. He's warm and his body is loose and there's a sweet smell to the pillow under his head.

That smell suddenly ignites his memory. Pictures flood back to him.

_Shepard_.

The night rushes back to him in a brilliant symphony of images and smells and sounds and feelings. The wave of thought almost knocks him right out again. But his curiosity burns more than his desire to relive every detail.

Where is she?

The spot beside him on her bed is cold. He slides a hand across the mattress, searching for her with a meaningless grunt. He finally succumbs to the morning –which isn't really _morning_ because deep space is always fucking black and dark and dreary- and opens his eyes.

Shepard has a skylight installed above her bed. He's momentarily stalled by the stars and colorful swirls. Okay. Maybe deep space isn't as bad as he makes it out to be. Times like this he can appreciate it. Lying in the bed of the greatest woman in the galaxy, arms propped behind his head, naked as the day he was born with a deep sense of satisfaction –the stars don't look half bad from this angle.

He could definitely get used to this.

He registers the sound of the shower turning off. He hadn't noticed it was on. He props himself up on his elbows and watches the bathroom door like a hawk.

It was probably only natural that she woke up before him. But he won't say he's not disappointed. He kind of envisioned watching her sleep for a little while. Tracing the lines of her face with his eyes. Kissing her good morning.

But those are traditional, if not somewhat cliché fantasies of his. This is _real_. He has to keep reminding himself of that startling fact. And Shepard is not, and will never be, a woman that does anything heexpects.

The door slides open and she's fully dressed, looking just as steely and composed as he's been looking at her for the last month and a half. He suddenly feels entirely too naked. It's at this point he realizes he doesn't have a fucking _clue _where they stand.

Does she regret what happened? Does she want him out? Should he have left sooner? His stomach drops when her eyes flit to him without a smile. She gestures a thumb to the shower.

"Shower's open if you want it."

He clears his throat. Every little thing she does now sends his body haywire –now that he knows what parts of her can become sensual if she wants them too. She scratches the back of her neck absently and he remembers how those same rosy nails raked up and down his back last night. He swallows and clears his throat again, scanning the floor for his clothes.

"Oh –yeah, thanks."

It's like the walk of shame, only worse, when he finds his clothes. He has to fucking get up butt ass naked, put his balled up mess of clothes in front of his crotch, and high tail it for the bathroom. _Loco_, fucking _loco._ And as if the humiliation of _that _isn't enough, he gets in the shower and is fumbling around so much he manages to knock down her soaps and shampoo in a loud clatter.

"Mother fu-"

He picks up everything he knocked over and then takes a breath. He wrenches on the water a bit more forcefully than necessary and exhales. As nervous as he is for the inevitable conversation after he gets out of the shower, it's damn hard to not enjoy it while he's in it. He's been showering in a cube so small his shoulders brush against the edges for what feels like years. There's room to breathe in here. Room to stretch. Room to brace his forearms against the wall and let the water pound down on the nape of his neck as he lowers his head.

All right. Time for a plan. Last night was probably the last chance he was going to get that lucky going in blind. He needs at least _something_ to go off of. But what is he supposed to say to her? Was he supposed to _ask_ if she wanted him to leave? Should he just sneak out while he has the chance? And where does this even leave them? Are they just never going to talk about this? Go on like nothing happened?  
That isn't going to fly. He can think of no worse torture in the entire galaxy. To come so close, to touch her, to taste her, to _love_ her –and then to pretend it didn't happen? _Ay_, he prayed to God he won't have to endure that.

His planning fizzles out. It's hard to concentrate on anything but the hot water and the lingering scent of her shampoo. So he gets dressed and exits the bathroom just as dumbfounded and stupid as he went walking in. He stands just above the step that leads down to her bed and scans the room for her.

There's music playing softly. The fish tank bubbles. Damn. Everything in this room has a place. It's organized, immaculate, and yet somehow neglected. Like it's all for show and no one really lives here. But there in the center of the sharp lines and accuracy, Shepard is the room's anchor. She's lying on the bed with her hands folded on her stomach, looking up at the stars.

Her blue-violet eyes find him so suddenly it almost makes him jump. His throat goes dry. Images from the night before keep assaulting him. Sounds. Her soft moans. The smirking flash of those same eyes in the shadows. Her hips against his.

_Jesus_ –she keep the heat cranked up in here or something? He is fucking _roasting_ all of a stares at him evenly and he definitely feels like he's being cooked alive. He stands on the cusp of turning right around and running out the doors. Her eyes are cool. Her face serene.

"Going somewhere, Lieutenant?"

Her husky voice sends him over the edge. Everything he's been trying to prepare to say rushes out in a jumbled, blurted mess.

"I…I dunno…I didn't know if you wanted me here still…I mean, shit, Shepard I know I'm just a grunt and...you're…well you're _you_ and I'm me…I don't…what I mean is…I think…I know you're a lot older than me and hell you're a goddamned legend but- I've always admired you and you're an amazing woman and-"

"How much older?" she interrupts him with a narrowed, playful glance.

Her eyes smirk at him. His body resolves. It's like someone's suddenly dumped cool, violet water all over him.

"I didn't mean…" his breath fades out.

"Lieutenant, I'm going to give you five seconds to get that tight little ass of yours over here."

Her eyes are practically vibrating with laughter. The tension shocks right of the room. Relief balloons in his chest and exhales in a rush of reignited bravado.

"So you noticed," he smirks.

He obliges her by crossing the edge of the room and coming to lay on the bed beside her. He places his hands behind his head and then slides his eyes over to look at her.

"You're sexy when you're bossy, Lola."

"Watch your tongue, soldier," she murmurs with a smirk.

"Didn't seem to mind where it was goin' last night."

This time, she gives him a real laugh. Low and raspy, it sets him on fire once more. But this is a burn he enjoys. He revels in the flames.

She rolls onto her side to meet his eyes. He turns his head to return the favor. He swallows back a moan at the sight of her. Fresh from the shower, cheeks smooth and dark, lips like candy.

"Surprised you actually followed through, Vega," she teases.

He smirks.

"I told you –when I commit to something, I _fully_ commit."

There's a long silence. He hears her breathing. Tries not to watch the swell of her ample chest.

"James," she sighs all of a sudden.

He gives her his full attention. Her eyes explore the front of his t-shirt.

"Everything is…crazy, right now," she says.

"Ain't that the truth."

But he measures her gaze. He can't tell if she's about to kick him to the curb or not. She bites her bottom lip in an unfamiliar display of trepidation and he shifts so he's closer to her.

"But…I like this. I like _you_," she whispers after a moment, "I want this to work."

With a great fucking effort, he keeps the grin off his face. Wait till Esteban gets a load of _this._ He coughs to try and delay the smile that's breaking out all over his face. He reaches forward and trails his knuckles across her temple.

"I do too, Lola."

She moves and all of a sudden her mouth finds his. Her lips are just as sweet as his memories promised him. His hand unwinds from behind his head to trail down her side. His fingers feel at her ribs through her clothes and then grasp at her hip. It disappears in his palm. She's so _small_. He always forgets.

She pulls away after a moment and stares at him. The blue light from the fish tank flickers on her cheeks. The lights are dim in the cabin. He wants to turn them off completely.

Her fingers suddenly come up and brush at the bridge of his nose. She trails a fingertip down the scar there and then finds the other that extends from his bottom lip to his chin.

"What are these from?" she asks in a low voice.

He closes his eyes. Her cool fingers on his face are heaven.

"First one's from shrapnel on Fehl," he murmurs.

Her finger traces it again, and it's like she's tracing the memories too. Her touch lightens them.

"And this one?" she asks and she finds the one by his lip.

He smirks.

"Bar fight on Omega."

"Surprise, surprise. Did you at least win?"

"'Course I did. You should have seen the other guys. Real _hijos de putas_."

She curls against him and rests her head on his chest. His arm encircles her and they both watch the stars with a sad fascination.

"I used to have scars," she says after a long silence.

"Before you got spaced?" he asks, probably a little more bluntly than is appropriate.

She nods. He can just tell by the way she _feels_ against him that the topic bothers her. Her fingers curl on his chest a bit like they did the night before and he turns to her.

"Show me," he says all of a sudden.

She looks at him with questioning eyes. But slowly, she seems to understand the gesture. Her eyes smile in a sad, sweet way. All he wants to do is take it all away for her. The Reapers. Cerberus. The weight of the galaxy.

"I had one here from a bullet when I first went into the field," she said and points to a spot on the inside of her elbow.

He reaches for her arm and places a soft kiss on the place she previously pointed to. Her laughter is a release. It's hollow but it's enough. He encourages her to continue. She lifts her shirt and points to her rib.

"One here and there were two small ones right under it."

He kisses the satin skin over her ribs three times. He brushes his thumb over the smooth, unmarred flesh there when he's finished.

He kisses one that used to be under her jaw, another above her eyebrow, one on her shoulder and a small one on the tip of her nose that was apparently from falling when she was a child. That one stalls her for a while. She seems consumed with the memory and the sensation of it being acknowledged and her eyes glass over.

"Lola," he murmurs, trying to coax her out of it.

She comes back smoothly from her reverie. Her eyes are shiny. No tears, she refuses them –but she allows her face to fall a bit in front of him.

"You forgot a few," he says.

She raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, see, I remember from the vids–you had a lot of scars right in this area," he smiles a little, touching at her silky mouth.

It curls under his touch.

"You're right, I did," she plays along.

"What were they from?" he kisses the corner of her lips and her hand slides up his chest.

"Bar fight," she breathes in his ear.

He laughs and kisses her for real, pulling her into the vice of his arms.

They give themselves another hour to forget the world before they decide they have to do their jobs. They have to remember what's waiting outside those doors for them. What horrors the stars in the skylight are bringing.

He leaves her, and it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do. He steals a kiss and presses her up against the fish tank before he leaves. And he's panting when he gets in the elevator. But somehow it's not enough. It's never going to be enough until he knows they're both getting out of this war alive.

Until then, he wants more. He wants her every minute of every day. Because there's no telling which one is going to be their last. And now that he has her, that thought terrifies him more than anything.


	14. Huevos

_Bioware owns my new sweater and these characters._

_Oh my god, guys. I literally can't with you! Your reviews and feedback are so so so so flawless, I just get giddy and scream and laugh my way through reading them all. I honestly will never be able to thank you enough! _

_Sorry for the short entry tonight! But I figured it needed a bit of lightening up. Love you guys, keep on reading and reviewing!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Huevos**

So, there's an active geth on board. Major Shithead Alenko is back on board, too. They infiltrated a geth dreadnought. Almost got blown to shit by the Quarian fleet. Oh yeah –and he's sleeping with the Commander.

It's been a hell of a week.

So he does what he does best to unwind. He cooks.

Yeah, so it's a weird hobby. It's not exactly the manliest talent out there, but fuck if he's not serious about his stomach. He's hungry about ninety percent of the time. Used to blame it on being a growing young man. He's gotten a few years past that, but hasn't quite lost the appetite for it. It's a good thing Shepard keeps his sorry ass running around in a hundred pounds of armor ever day. The way he eats, if he just sat around all day he'd be four hundred pounds. Easy.

He stirs the eggs a bit in the pan and wrinkles his nose at them. Not really sure what kind of fucking eggs they are. Not really sure he wants to know. Better to just cook them and eat them and be happy than worry about what kind of ass they came out of.

_Huevos rancheros._ A classic he learned from his _abuela_ back when that old bird was still kicking. She was one hell of a woman. Cooked all day every day. And when he was little and not being an obnoxious little bitch she'd let him watch her. She even taught him a few things. He remembers her fondly screaming at him in Spanish to pick the shells out of the egg yolks and flinging flour everywhere like a madwoman.

Despite the questionable eggs, his concoction smells _delicious. _He knows they won't taste half as good as his _abuelas_ but it's close enough. Better than eating the cardboard shit they serve in the foyer anyhow.

He's adding a little hot sauce when he feels a presence by his elbow.

"Lieutenant."

The voice that greets him is male. Tight. He knows who it is before he even shifts his eyes and he has to resist a groan.

"Major Alenko," he responds back coolly before turning his eyes on his eggs again.

He still hasn't been able to come up with a nickname for the guy. And he has a sneaking suspicion it's because he doesn't actually _like_ the Major. No –actually, he's pretty sure that's why. He doesn't deserve a goddamn nickname. God, he even _look_ like he's about to start whining. Big brown puppy dog eyes, frowning all over the goddamn place –James kind of wants to shake his shoulders and tell him to man the fuck up. He just got about a months worth of prissy hospital bed rest –you'd think he'd be all gung ho about getting into the swing of things rather than moping around the Normandy.

James sighs. All right. Maybe he's being a little hard. He and the Major might actually get along if he gave him a shot. But there's some unspoken tension between him that he cant exactly put his finger on. But he's pretty sure it involves Shepard, whatever it is.

"Can I do somethin' for you, _hombre?"_ James asks, after a measured silence.

Major Alenko looks up from the pan and they meet eyes. He clears his throat.

"Have you seen Shepard?"

For some reason, the question rubs James the wrong way. The need to be vindictive takes hold of him. It's that pathetic look in the other man's eyes when he asks. Like he's too damn proud to ask but he can't help himself. Lovesick. Lovesick puppy –_that_'s what he looks like.

Is there something going on between him and Shepard? Or _was_ there, is probably the fairer question.

"Yeah, I saw her last night," James says absently, stirring the eggs around a bit.

Major Alenko clears his throat. James lets the silence sit for a moment longer and then tries his damn hardest to conceal a smirk.

"And this morning."

The Major runs a hand through his hair. The tension between them turns icy. Brittle. James revels in the feeling of it and the quick, bitter look of understanding in Alenko's eyes. But it softens again and he looks like a goddamn dog that just got kicked.

"Is she…is she okay?" he asks.

Goddamn it. What's this _cabron_ trying to do?

This time, James _does_ smirk a little. Because, hell, it's kind of fun playing with him. And he's damn protective over Shepard. That's nothing new. But his caveman possessiveness increases tenfold when ever he's around the Major.

"Yeah…I'd say so," he grunts.

And that's enough for the Major for one day. James has to give him props. He's more of a man than he would be to walk away from a conversation that heavy with in-between-the-lines shit. He turns to leave after giving a quick, uncomfortable nod.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

James grins, enjoying the upper hand. He's just fucking with him now.

"You want some _huevos_, Major? Just like my _abuela_ used to make."

Major Alenko's eyes narrow. He knows exactly what he's doing and he's not about to take any shit. Or, at least not any more than he already has.

"No thank you," he says in a scathing voice.

His eyes flash contemptuously before he gives him another, forced nod and leaves him in peace at the stove.

"Suit yourself," James says.

He snickers to himself while he finishes his eggs and then carts his creation over to the empty table.

He eats like a king.


	15. Diosa

_Bioware owns my red leather purse and these characters._

_Wowowow. I'm convinced. I literally have the BEST readers in the entire universe. I wish I could thank you guys with something more than words, really! Like hugs. Or cookies. Or kittens. :) Seriously, every review and every reader and everything just makes my day so much brighter. Can't thank you enough, darlings!_

_Also- I'm apologizing for the Kaidan bashing. Truth be told I love me some Shenko, but a rivalry between him and James is just too good for me to pass up! So please forgive me for any Kaidan hate that make come out of James's mouth. It's not a reflection on me I promise! James is just a grumpy little spanish caveman. Gotta love him!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Diosa**

She looks like a goddess.

Not that it's any different than usual, but this time it's picture worthy. Rannoch's hard, orange sun lights up the horizon and she stands at the cusp of it. She's the only one on the ledge, right on the precipice overlooking that blast shield they need to get rid of. The horizon spreads out from her lean figure. It's almost like the entire atmosphere is parting just for her.

He's found one of his favorite Shepard moves on the battlefield is the way she un-holsters her gun from her back. There is something undeniably sexy about the way she tilts her head and slides her arm back, unhooking her weapon of choice with practiced grace. It's all one smooth movement. Like it's as natural as air to her.

Her battlefield elegance will probably never fail to turn him on.

She swings her gun around and balances it in the crook of her elbow. Rannoch's sun turns her pearly armor ablaze with gold. She is a shimmering beacon against the sky. He stands next to Tali about fifty feet back. He turns to look at the Quarian, wondering if she's as stunned by the ethereal appearance of the Commander as he is. Hard to tell with that mask. He folds his arms across his chest and looks back at Shepard. It's all he can do to keep from smiling.

_Yup. I'm hittin' that._

He almost wants to _tell_ Sparks right then and there. He's just so damn excited about everything that's been going on between him and the Commander. But Shepard thinks its best to keep it under wraps for as long as possible. It's not really a _secret_, but he's not supposed to be running his mouth about how wild she gets in bed or how often they do it. (Telling Esteban doesn't count, right?) James respects the need for their privacy though. If begrudgingly. So he represses the urge. Tries to concentrate on the matter at hand rather than how good Shepard ass looks gleaming in the sun.

"_Normandy's systems are ready to sync to your target."_

EDI's voice crackles through the com link in his ear. Shepard broadens her stance on the ledge and aims the gun into the vast canyon where the blast shield is still being a persistent motherfucker.

"_I recommend you withdraw to a safe distance_."

Shepard doesn't move. He and Sparks share a glance, and even though he cant see her face under the purple sheath, he knows their faces mirror each others.

"Uh –Commander?" he speaks up.

Maybe Shepard didn't hear EDI or something.

Hah. Who the hell was he kidding? She damn well heard, she's just choosing to ignore it. And she calls _him_ the reckless one.

"Are you _loco?" _ he hears himself crying as she places her feet near the edge and starts to fire the honing beam into the center of the blast shield.

He starts to run forward but the Normandy suddenly careens out of the sky, drowning out any of his protests.

"_Target locked_."

He shields his eyes from the dust the momentum picks up and watches as the ship sails right over them and launches a big ass missile right into the epicenter of the hole. There's a thunderous boom as it connects with the metal. James is thrown back right on his ass by the shock of the explosion. But not before he watches the ledge fall out from under Shepard's feet.

Her pearly armor glints like a jewel against the orange flames and black churning smoke and then drops from sight.

He hears Sparks screaming behind him but his ears are still ringing from the explosion. He scrambles up in an ungraceful display of flailing limbs and a slew of colorful curses and sprints for the edge of the overhang. He slides onto his stomach and hugs the edge, peering down into the smoke with frantic eyes.

"Shepard! _Shepard!_"

There, right below him, he finds her. He watches her pick herself up and get onto her knees amidst the rubble. _Gracias a Dios_.

"Commander! You okay?" he calls down.

He hears her cough. But before she can get a word out there's a deep rumbling from under them. He grips onto the edge of the overhang tighter, looking around to try and find the source. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. The rumbling gets harsher. More immediate. Rubble starts to quake like dice. _No bueno, __no bueno, no bueno._

It rises from the ground in a smooth, terrible black arc. Legs splay. A red center gleams. The god awful wrenching sound that comes from its very core fills the sky.

"Reaper!" Shepard yells.

James's eyes grow to be the size of dinner plates.

"Oh _shit!"_

"_We have located transportation."_ Legion speaks up through the communication line. James barely hears him –_it? them?_- over the Reaper.

He's been up close to these _hijos de putas_ before but never _this_ close. They're all sorts of fucking scary when you're looking directly up at one. It swings the world into check for him. These are the things that are destroying Earth right now. Innocent people are getting the same image as he's getting right now –feeling as helpless as he does. His blood starts to churn.

"Copy that! Everybody, get to the ship!" Shepard calls through next, "_Move!_"

Now is not the time to fuck around. James waits and helps Tali down the crushed side of the overhang before jumping down himself. Shepard starts running. Her tinted armor shines against the orange backdrop. But for once, he's watching something other than her finely curved ass while he's running behind her. He stumbles over his feet and looks up at the Reaper instead as it swings about wildly. He hears Shepard firing a few shots at it.

Probably tickling the fucking thing, for all they know.

"_Keelah_, it's huge!" Tali gasps.

"_Move!" _Shepard barks again.

James picks up the pace. His armor smacks together. His heavy boots thrum over Rannoch's abandoned ground. Sparks is hot on his heels.

"How are we supposed to fight that thing?" she cries.

He can hear the desperation in her voice. The terror. It's a hell of a lot different when those things are on your own world –he knows from experience. Not that the Quarians even live here, but that somehow makes it worse. This is the place they always thought they'd return to. And now to see it about to go down to a Reaper –it's gotta be rough.

"I was hoping your fleet might lend a hand!" Shepard pants at the front of the line.

James snorts.

"Yeah, because they've been so helpful this whole time!"

They skid to a halt in front of the Geth ship Legion's got control of. Shepard waits while the doors slide open and ushers him and Sparks in first.

"Go, go, _go!"_

He catches her eyes before he enters. There's something hard in her gaze. The hair on the back of his neck stands up again –fuck. What is _that_ look? That's the kind of balls-out, reckless fire that he's seen in the mirror more than a few times. What exactly is she about to do?

He wants to stop and ask her but there's no waiting around with this woman. She all but shoves him into the ship and then slams the door closed. He wheels around. She's not behind him. He rebounds like elastic and tries to get it open from the inside.

"The fuck does she think she's-"

"Shepard-Commander is operating the turret on the exterior of the ship," Legion quips.

Of course she is.

James struggles into the sitting position. All he wants to do is bang at the fucking door until she lets him out there with her. But he knows she's capable. He knows his caveman protectiveness is misplaced always, but it is especially so here.

He kneads his temples as the ship shudders with every bullet that expels from the turret. There's noise, noise, noise and more noise for a few minutes and then a colossal crash. He picks his head up. Please to all holy fuck, let that have been the Reaper. That was too big to be anything else, right?

Admiral Gerrel comes through the piece in his ear.

"_What did we hit?"_

Shepard's cool voice eases his anxious muscles as it responds. She doesn't even sound winded. Like standing on top of a moving ship and firing at a Reaper are natural occurances for her.

Well –guess they kind of _are_. Doesn't make it any less impressive.

"_The firing chamber. Looks like a weak point when it's priming_."

"Knew those bastards had to have a weakness somewhere," James grunts.

_"Damn it, the jamming towers have us targeting manually. We can make a precision shot!" _ Gerrel comes through again.

Tali stiffens where she sits.

"We may escape before it recovers," Legion advises.

James relaxes further. Yeah. That's a good idea. Escape. Get the hell out of Dodge before that thing wakes up. Because it's going to wake up _pissed_.

_"No. Pull over."_

Shepard's voice ices his blood the next time it comes through. His jaw tightens and he hunches forward, putting a finger up to the com link in his ear.

"Bullshit –we get out while we still can!" he protests.

_"If we run away the geth stay under Reaper control, and the quarians are dead,"_ she responds with resolve, and a bit of softness he knows is directed at him.

Tali turns her head, as if she _knows_. Jesus, is _everyone_ on the crew a mind reader? So much for staying private about this.

"_This ends now," _Shepard finishes the thought with a hard edge to her voice and then relays instructions to EDI.

James gets to his feet. He gets up so fast that he manages to bang his head on the top of the ship. Cherry on the _fucking_ sundae.

"No way in hell, Shepard. You're not doing this alone," he collects himself and makes a move for the door.

Tali reaches up and holds him back. She doesn't say anything. And she doesn't have to. He knows it's not his place to go out there. But this is a _Reaper_. Shepard is a hell of a woman but that's just it –she's _just_ a woman against...agains that _thing._ Sure, she's got the fleet backing her but they're not on the ground staring at it, are they?

"_You worry too much, James,"_ her voice has telltale signs of a smirk as it comes through his earpiece.

He can almost see her eyes crinkling in the corners. The violet, smug scenery of her gaze.

He punches the wall of the ship and then slams back down into his seat. There's not even enough room to _pace_ in this thing.

"I do not recommend inflicting interior hull damage," Legion says.

"I'll inflict damage to _your_ interior hull, _hombre_," James hisses. His body is on fire. He's ready to rip that fucking door apart just to get to Shepard.

Then all of a sudden, Tali rests a hand on his knee. It's a soft gesture. A calming one. Even though he cant read her eyes, he can ready her body. _Calm down, she'll be okay_. He didn't really expect the gesture her. They kind of got off on the wrong foot when he first gave her, her nickname. Stumbled over his words, made an ass out of himself and wondered how far out of his league he really was with these women he surrounded himself with. But she's sweet. He can only hope he's growing on her.

He exhales a sigh for her and calms himself. He touches a finger to his earpiece again and growls.

"Just come back in one piece, Lola."


	16. La Victoria

_Bioware owns my foxy curls conditioner and these characters._

_Oh god, how I love thee, readers! I'll never get tired of saying it, you're the best! Keep on reading and reviewing :)_

_Random tidbit -today I discovered Next 2 You by Chris Brown ft. Justin Bieber is such a good Shega song. (DONT YOU JUDGE ME IT'S SO FUDGING CATCHY) Anyway. Just thought I'd share with all you flawless people. _

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**La Victoria **

A lot of shit goes down in not a lot of time.

He's never been good at following things that go at the blink of an eye. But he gets the jist. Shepard and the fleet bring down the Reaper. Best news he's heard in a while, actually. But it's quickly subdued when Legion and Tali get out of the ship and _make him stay_.

Does _no one_ understand how much he hates being put on shuttle duty? He was about to charge out of the damn thing like an elephant to get to Shepard and see that she was really okay up close and personal–but Tali held him back. Told him he needed to stay with the ship just in case. And damn it, if he didn't like her so much he probably would have shoved her out of the way. But she had a clear head and he definitely _didn't_. So he decided to listen to her.

Just like on Mars, it made _sense_ for him to stay with the guns. If anything surprised them someone needed to be on their toes. And he was the only one left without a job to do in the aftermath, therefore it was his duty to keep the ship protected.

But just because something makes _sense_ doesn't mean he has to like it.

He's pissed. Really pissed. And so on edge that his jaw is locked up and his hands have fallen asleep from being in fists for too long. He's waiting, waiting, waiting. He's sitting on the opened hangar of the ship door –because it's _way_ too small in there for someone of his size and height and if he hits his head _one more fucking time_ he may actually blow the thing up- watching the other three from a distance. He cant hear a goddamn thing any of them are saying. The com links aren't activated.

So he just has to watch. Shepard's iridescent armor gleams in the sun still. She looks unscathed from a distance. _Lucky. _Her image doesn't calm him any.

He _hates_ waiting. This is some high class bullshit. He's angry at Shepard. Angry at Tali. Angry at Legion just because. Angry at the fucking _Reapers_. Angry at Rannoch's hot sun and dry ground. Angry at himself for sitting here like a goddamn rookie when he _should_ be out there with them.

But he's a soldier. A damn good one, Shepard once told him. And this is probably one of those times where it will do him some good to actually follow orders. So he does. Not without brooding, of course. Minutes crawl. He can't unclench his fists, or his jaw, not even if he wanted to. He waits and waits and waits.

Then, suddenly Legion falls. The metal body folds to its knees and then keels over. James stiffens. He gauges Tali and Shepard's reactions. Was that in the plan? They don't seem surprised, or in any danger. He continues to wait. Admiral Raan stumbles in from the sidelines –she's eventually escorted away by a Geth Prime.

What the actual _fuck_ is going on? He needs answers. _Now_.

At the end of a gruesome waiting period, Shepard and Tali stand alone on the cliff. Tali sits and draws her knees up. Shepard mimics her. The sun casts down on both of them, drawing them in gold. Shepard drapes her elbows across her knees. It's a fairly childish position, not one she's often found in. The vulnerability is foreign to her hard arcs and bows and heavy armored figure. He kind of likes it. She looks…innocent. Take away the armor, replace it with a string bikini and turn the landscape into something tropical –it's almost like paradise.

The two of them talk for a while and James lets them. _This_ is a moment he knows isn't worth interrupting. But the rage hasn't quieted. Merely stalled in his blood.

It reignites a few minutes later when Shepard alone stands from the dust. Tali has since stood as well and stands at the edge of the cliff. Shepard places a hand on her shoulder. And James swears even from a distance he can see the soft curl of her smile. Then, she turns and leaves Tali in peace to pay her respects to the home world.

Shepard makes her way back to him. With each step he takes his nerves get sharper. His rage hardens. Her armor glows in the light, like something out of a dream. He watches it with flickering eyes. He remembers how close he was to loosing her. Her dark hair shines. His fingers remember its velvet feel. His mind supplies him with the crushing agony of what it might feel like to never be able to touch her again.

By the time she's ten feet away he's _livid. _He gets to his feet, like a rhinoceros rearing to charge.

"What the fuck just happened?" he barks.

She opens her mouth but he doesn't even let her answer the question.

"What the hell _was _that? Are you out of your mind, Lola?" he throws his arms up, "You know how lucky you are to make it out of that alive? That was a goddamn _Reaper_, you don't go head to head with those things!"

Her eyes spark defensively.

"Stand down, Lieutenant," she says in a measured voice.

He knows she's trying to calm him, that she _understands_ what this is. But it's only making him angrier. He can't wrap his head around any of this. How could she _do _that to him?

"I had it under control," she continued.

His nostrils flare.

"That's _loco_ and you know it. You almost got your ass fried by that thing and I had to sit in that _fucking_ ship and listen to it all happen! You shouldn't have gone alone, Shepard, I could have helped, I could have-"

She cuts him off by coming forward, grabbing his face, and kissing him. Her lips are soft and dark. Sweet. Warm from the gold sun. The rage in him dies down and mewls like an embarrassed kitten. His body relaxes.

She keeps a hold of his face but draws back an inch.

"Shut up," she whispers into his mouth.

He doesn't have anything intelligent to say in response, so he grunts instead and grabs her around the waist, tugging her closer and bringing their mouths together again. The kiss is aggressive. Impatient. He's hungry for her. It's an insatiable hunger. He can't quite get enough right now. Like she's his only sustenance and he's afraid it's going to get taken away. He gorges himself in preparation.

He's not sure he ever wants to let her go again. At least in this moment, right here, she can't pull any suicidal stupid shit. He has her in his arms and _God_, does he wish she could stay.

They kiss for what seems like years. He's perfectly content to keep on kissing too, when a soft _Ahem_ reaches the two of them. Shepard breaks apart first with a cool smile and turns her head over to Tali, who's standing there with her arms crossed.

James is a bit less subtle about his surprise. He wrenches back and unhands Shepard's hips as if he's been burned. He coughs to try and mask the cry of surprise that escaped him. He scratches at the back of his head.

"Oh uh…hey, Sparks."

"So much for keeping this under wraps," Shepard murmurs, a smile in her eyes.

Tali unfolds her arms.

"I didn't know you were trying to keep it a secret," she says and there's a teasing tone to her voice, "You're fairly obvious."

James's already flushed cheeks color darker.

"Well -shit."

"Does the whole ship know?" Shepard laughs a little.

Tali shrugs. He can't see her face but he just _knows_ she's smiling under there.

"I'm not sure. Garrus and I were talking about it the other night. I think Joker knows, too."

Shepard smirks, unruffled. James rubs his forehead.

"_Ay_."

Tali steps forward and places a hand on Shepard's shoulder. He watches the light catch on Shepard's dark cheeks, the bridge of her lightly freckled nose. Her eyes are cerulean in the gleam.

"If there's anyone who deserves to be happy, it's you, Shepard," Tali whispers.

Shepard gives her gracious smile. Inwardly, James pumps his fist. They've got Tali's approval, then. That's a good sign, right? Quarians know their shit. The tension built up in him finally resolves completely and he allows himself to be warmed by the orange glow of a world whose future Commander Shepard has singlehandedly insured.

Later, as they make their way back to the Normandy and he's been debriefed on everything that's happened, he decides to falls in step with Tali when there's a lull in conversation. He turns his head and gives her his most charming, _guapo_ smile.

"So…" he wiggles his brow, "You and Scars an item now, or what?"

She stiffens midstep, but resumes her composure in half a second.

"You're cute," she sighs without looking at him, "Don't make me hurt you."

That wins them a rough, husky note of laughter from Shepard. It's a pretty sound. Not quite as glorious as the shine to her eyes though when she turns and looks back at them. They're full of victory. Of confidence.

Sure, they lost a good soldier today. But for once, his death wasn't in vain. That feels good. Oh, _and _they took down a _Reaper_. That feels pretty fucking _estupendo_, too.

The light of victory in Shepard's eyes is almost too stunning an image to behold. He lets her light fill him.

But even still, somewhere in the back of his head he can't help but wonder how many more moments like today -sitting and waiting to hear her last breath through his earpiece- he's going to have to endure before this war is over.

One too many already, if you ask him.


	17. Segundos

_Bioware owns my beautiful air conditioning and these characters._

_I LOVE YOU GUYYYYYYSSS! Oh god I am so tired I don't even have anything else intelligent to say. So that's gonna have to do it for tonight!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Segundos**_  
_

Later that night, he finds himself deeply entrenched in a gun at his workbench. His "cave" as Esteban fondly calls it.

Everyone else in the shuttle bay has gone to bed already. It's black and empty, just like the inside of his head. Ever since getting back from Rannoch he feels numb. Worn out.

Too tired to even sleep.

It's probably past midnight -if time means anything out here in the big empty- when his intercom crackles. A low, husky voice echoes in the empty hold.

"_James_?"

He reaches forward, bathed in shadows. The button depresses under his finger.

"Hey, Lola," he murmurs.

"_Somehow I knew you'd be awake."_

There's a pause.

"_Can't sleep?"_ she asks.

He clears his throat.

"Naw, and I'm guessin' you can't either."

"_Nope."_

He smiles a little, "Want some company?"

"_Yup_."

"Be right up."

He's at her door in three minutes flat. She lets him inside and they close behind him with a cool swish of air. The fish tank is bright enough to illuminate the bed where she lays. She's on her back, still in her civvies, hands rested on her stomach and looking up at the stars in a very familiar position.

He kicks off his shoes and without introduction, crawls across the bed to her side. He cups her cheek and she turns her head into his palm, her lips grazing his wrist.

"Hey," she murmurs.

He's overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her. That nagging feeling in his gut that keeps telling him to love her now while he has the chance burns the back of his throat as he gives in to the temptation. He doesn't _like_ feeling rushed. He hates that his head has accepted their time together might be limited.

Because his _heart_ sure as hell hasn't.

Which is why he backs off. Tonight isn't the night for ripping each other's clothes off with their teeth and going to hell on each other. As much fun as that would _be_, this isn't the time. He's not going to rush things just because they have a war on their hands.

Tonight there's just enough time to lay here. So he's gonna let the seconds crawl.

He rolls onto his back and she rolls next to him, they fit together like symmetry. Her hard curves of strength and his heavy arms, his weak spots and her delicacy –everything folds together. She comes to rest her hand on his chest and her head in the crook of his shoulder.

"Lola?"

"Mmmm," she replies, and he feels the hum of her voice reverberate through his chest.

He inhales slowly and watches the stars flit by above him.

"How bad are your nightmares?"

She stiffens against him. He's struck a nerve. He saw it coming though –Shepard has tried her damn hardest to keep her lack of sleep a secret. Or at least the _reasons _for it. Too bad he and Gloria are tight now. And she worries about Shepard as much as he does.

"Bad," she sighs in a defeated sort of way.

She knows he knows. And she probably knows _how_ he knows. There's no use denying it.

Good.

She needs to stop being so damn strong around him anyway. He wants her to be certain she doesn't have to put up walls for him. That she doesn't have to be strong for anyone but herself when he's with her.

"How bad?" he asks.

Her knees curl up into his side. His hand that rests on her shoulder starts to massage there gently.

"It's the same one every time. I'm running through these woods and there are shadows everywhere. People calling my name."

Her brow furrows as she concentrates.

"And I'm chasing a boy."

"Anyone I should know about?" he quips lightly, a trying smirk on his mouth.

Her laughter is weak, but its enough. He shuts up after that so she can continue.

"No, nothing like that. It's a little boy –I saw him the day the Reapers hit Earth."

"Did you know him?"

She shakes her head and flips over a little so she can look at the stars with him. He's found her face is much more interesting than the cosmos and he shifts his eyes to watch her every tell tale sign of softness as they slip across her visage. Her silken mouth crumbles. Her gaze flickers.

"No. He was hiding in an air vent when Anderson and I were trying to raise the Normandy. I tried to get him to come with us but he wouldn't."

"Probably scared out of his mind, didn't know what to do," James offers.

She shrugs.

"I saw him later. He was getting on a shuttle right as we were pulling out."

She takes a long breath that stills her. He knows what's coming next just by the way her eyes turn down and her jaw tightens up.

"It was in the air for all of thirty seconds before a Reaper shot it down."

He closes his eyes.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

There's silence for a few heavy moments. There's nothing to say, really. Sorry doesn't cut it. She's already heard a thousand condolences. He opens his eyes to watch her face. Her eyes are fixated on the stars in a violent, unrelenting way.

"Do you ever catch him in your dream?" he murmurs the question by her shoulder and places a kiss there.

"Everytime," she sighs.

"And?"

"And right when I go out to reach for him, he bursts into flames."

He exhales a long breath.

"You can't beat yourself up about that, Lola. You're killin' yourself."

She shrugs. He's pretty sure she knows he's right. But it'll be a cold day in hell when she admits it.

"You get the dream every night?" he asks when she stays silent.

"Most," she shrugs and then turns back into him.

She smells sweet and warm. He inhales her proximity. Tries to bury that impatient, gut-wrenching feeling that's still bugging the hell out of him after that kiss on Rannoch.

"They're not so bad when you're around," she adds.

He smirks a little.

"Is that a personal invitation to sleep here from now on?"

She murmurs a laugh into his chest and nuzzles his sternum.

"I'm starting to think you only like me for my silk sheets and full sized mattress."

"Beats the cots in the crew deck, I'll tell ya that much."

He grins because he can feel her smiling. Her feet play with his.

"It's a damn good thing you're cute, Vega."

He kisses her forehead and lets the laughter fade out.

"Hey -I'm here whenever you want me, Lola," he murmurs, "I'll scare your nightmares away any night."

She gets comfortable against him and rests her cheek on his chest. He wonders if she can feel the impatient beating of his heart trying to lunge out of his chest. She drapes a lean arm over his torso and he feels the smooth heat of it.

"Good," she mumbles, "Your first shift starts now."

He laughs gently.

"Aye, aye, Commander."

He listens until her breathing slows. Until the steady rise and fall of her chest becomes a hypnotic rhythm. A pattern he falls into.

But still, he doesn't find peace enough to sleep himself. He lays awake and holds her, his eyes open and unblinking. It's almost as if he's keeping watch for her nightmares. Like they're going to come fucking waltzing through the door or something.

But that's not it at all, is it? He's not awake to protect her.

No –he can't sleep for an entirely different reason.

He can't sleep because if he sleeps, even lying beside her, he's wasting time. Eight hours unconscious is eight hours he didn't get to spend with her. What is that -480 minutes? And a whole fucking lot of seconds. Too many to just throw away.

At least right now, he's awake. He can feel the air in her body. Feel her pulse in her elbow that's draped across his ribs. Watch her face as it smooths into slumber. He can smell her sweetness, touch her skin.

And to have all of that right here, right now is _definitely_ worth loosing sleep over.

Right?


	18. Tarjetas

_Bioware owns my oatmeal and these characters!_

_Ahhh I don't think I can ever properly thank you guys for reading and reviewing and being so lovely. You are all so kind. I literally get all giddy and flail around whenever I see a new review and you are all so sweet. I can't even tell you how flattered and grateful I am for all your support with this story! You guys make it even more fun to write and I am so thankful for every one of you! Thank you thank you thank you thank you I love you guys!_

_Also, I had a dream about Mr. Vega last night. He ran a comic book store and he lifted a curse from me! That's all I remember. xD It was fabulous though!_

_Keep on reading and reviewing!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Tarjetas**_  
_

He's not really sure _how_ he ended up playing poker with Major Alenko.

It definitely wasn't like a friendly agreement or anything like that. He was sitting in the lounge and the other man waltzed in by accident and the two of them naturally sat themselves at the poker table –like they were cowboys in the old days squaring off with their guns drawn. It wasn't a game between buddies. It was an assertion of power. A showdown.

Unfortunately for Major Alenko, James happens to have some sick poker skills. He didn't play for months on Omega without learning a few tricks. In fact, he hasn't lost a game on this ship yet. (He doesn't count that one time against Sparks. You can't even _see_ her face).

He smirks across the table at Kaidan. _May the best man win._

If there's one thing he's learned from his poker days on Omega, it's that everyone has a _tell_. This one Batarian he played against tapped his foot when he was nervous. One of the engineers he played with the other night blinked excessively. Scars does this thing where his mandibles -or whatever they're called, he's sure as hell no expert on Turian physiology- flare when he's in a hot spot.

Major Alenko is no exception. James has it pinned ten minutes into the game. He drums his fingers. Right to left on the table. He taps his pointer finger all the way to his pinky in a rhythm that's actually really fucking annoying. Other than that, he's holding tension in his shoulders too, and over his brow. The only challenging part is deciding whether he's really got a shitty hand, or if it's actually the tension in the room has him looking like he's got an even bigger stick than usual shoved up his ass.

It takes all of thirteen minutes for him to drop the bomb James has been waiting for.

"So," he starts, eyes burning holes through his cards.

"So?" James replies smoothly. He watches the other man's fingers drum on the table.

"What's the deal with you and Shepard?"

James snorts a laugh without thinking. Kaidan snaps his gaze up contemptuously. He's trying his damn hardest to keep his face smooth but it's failing. James is good enough at reading people to see _those_ tells too.

"Damn," James continues to chuckle, if only to add to Major Alenko's discomfort, "You don't beat around the bush, do you, _hombre?_"

"Never been my style," he replies curtly.

James shrugs and plays a few cards.

"Fair enough."

Kaidan looks down at the bets he's placed and then his eyes go back to his cards. His fingers drum again on the table. _One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four_. A steady rhythm. A nervous one. James leans back and subdues his smirk as much as he can.

"Guess you could say we're together," he murmured.

"You guess?" Kaidan asks. Everything he says sounds like he's accusing James of something.

"Yeah, what -you want it written on paper or somethin'?"

Kaidan chuckles, but it's forced. He might as well be sneering.

"No, I guess not."

There's a pause. Kaidan drums his fingers. James lays down another bet. Raises him. Then he decides to bait him.

"Guess I could ask you the same question," he says.

Kaidan raises his eyebrows. But the stone in his gaze suggest he knows exactly what he's alluding to.

"That is?"

"What's the deal with _you_ and Shepard?"

Kaidan buries his gaze in his cards. There's a long pause.

"We…we used to be involved with one another."

James keeps his face cool. But hee fucking _knew _it! The way he looks at her like a sad puppy, how she went and saw him in the hospital, her _face_ when he was laying on the lab table in the med bay barely breathing. All the signs where there. Even that first day he met the Major. He knew they had to have something other than just a strong friendship. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel as jealous as he does _sad_ for this guy.

To have someone like Shepard and then lose her? _Shit_.

"What happened?" James asks, uable to quell his curiosity.

Kaidan's brow furrows further. He obviously doesn't want to talk about this with _him_, but he's the one who started the damn conversation. He better be man enough to finish it.

He sighs evenly.

"She was dead for two years –and when she came back and I found out she was working for _Cerberus_, I couldn't trust her."

If James had hackles, they might have risen.

"She didn't have a choice," he seethes.

It's always pissed him off how goddamn _hurt_ the Major was over her working with Cerberus. All he did on the Mars mission was bitch and moan about how he couldn't trust her and how he didn't know if it was really still _her_ in there and blah blah blah blah _blah_. James had been quick to come to her defense there too. If just to stop his bitching.

Kaidan looks sad. James finds it hard to be sympathetic the longer he talks to him.

"It didn't seem like it at the time. So I blew her off. I had moved on, and for her to just come _back_ like that…I didn't think we could make it work again."

James scoffs under his breath. Pretty sure Major Twinkeltoes still hears him though.

But come on –who the fuck does that? If _he_ was put in Kaidan's position he would have been falling at Shepard's feet, thanking every fucking God and Goddess in history that she was back. He would trust her judgment in a heartbeat. If she was working for Cerberus and told him it was the only way, then he would have followed her without question. He would have _never_ let her go after that. And he sure as hell wouldn't have held a grudge or acted like _he_ was the one who'd been wronged after she got fucking blown to hell, spaced and then put into a coma for two years while they rebuilt her body.

"That's rough, _amigo_," James tries forces something that sounds like sympathy. It fails.

"Yeah," Kaidan gives a mirthless breath of laughter, "Guess I don't have anyone to blame but myself."

James _wants_ to be an asshole and comment: _you guess?_ But he holds his tongue. He's already about to clean him out of all his credits. No need to add more insult to injury. Although –he rethinks it the next time Major Dick opens his mouth.

"You think you and Shepard will last?"

This is the first thing that comes out of Major Alenko's mouth that genuinely surprises James. He raises his eyebrows and his fingers tighten around his cards.

"The hell kind of question is that?"

Kaidan shrugs, not even man enough to meet his eyes. He keeps looking at his shitty hand of cards and drumming his fingers on the table. James feels his blood growing hot in his veins. Just who the fuck does he think he is?

"Just a question," he says coolly, "You're not the kind she usually goes for."

Not her kind? What? She doesn't like sexy, tattooed, courageous, ridiculously ripped, Spanish marines?

"Didn't know she had a type," James growls.

Kaidan meets his eyes for the first time in a while. They're blazing.

"I've just always pictured her with someone more…mature. Someone-"

"Someone like you?" James interrupts him coldly.

Kaidan's eyes down back down. James is pretty sure if they stare any harder at each other lasers are going to fucking come out. They'll set the whole lounge on fire. _Good_. The fire will cover his tracks after he's done beating the shit out of him.

But surprisingly, James's hotheaded nature relents. He has the upper hand still. That helps. He inhales a deep breath through his nostrils and manages to pull on a little smirk as he looks down into his cards.

"Sorry, _hombre_," he murmurs, "Sounds like you already had your chance."

Kaidan's eyes go wild in his head and he opens his mouth to say something when low and behold the Devil herself walks into the room. Sexy, mink-like and ruddy cheeked, she enters the lounge and comes to stand at the threshold of their battlefield. Her arms fold over her chest.

Kaidan leans back and sounds fucking smug.

"Got the flush," he announces.

James contains his laughter. He stays silent for a moment, playing with him. Lets him think he's won for a second.

"Mmmmm," he finally says and then clicks his tongue while laying down his cards, "Full house."

Kaidan's eyes widen. They snap up to him violently.

James shrugs, his gaze glittering.

"Caught it on the river."

Kaidan grips the edge of the table. His knuckles go white.

"Shit," he mutters.

James milks his victory a little. He likes watching the other man squirm, to be honest.

"Thought you were bluffin' on the flush," he grins, "Good for you."

Kaidan looks murderous.

"Can it, Lieutenant," he hisses.

Translation? _Fuck off, Lieutenant._

James gives him a rough peal of laughter.

"Yes sir, Major Alenko, _sir_."

James grins and turns to Shepard. Her eyes are smirking a little.

"Hey, Lola."

Kaidan turns to her as well. The hate fades off his face in half a second and even though he's won, James can't help but tighten up when he sees the awe dripping from his gaze when he looks at her. His fist clenches under the table.

"Shepard," Kaidan sighs, "I'd deal you in but Vega just cleaned me out."

_Damn right I did, cabron._

"Aw, come _on_, is that really as deep as your pockets go?" he asks, collecting the pile in the middle of the table with a sweeping armful.

Kaidan's gaze returns with fire to him.

"No sentimental crap stored away?" James asks pointedly, "Investments?"

"I've got some land on the Sunshine coast I could put up," he hisses.

"Heh, I'll pass," James leans back and grins.

"Someone should have warned you Kaidan," Shepard speaks up, husky and smirking, "James made a living playing poker on Omega with Batarians for a few months."

Kaidan looks unimpressed, "Lesson learned."

But then he turns to Shepard again, turning from a rabid dog to a sweet puppy when his eyes fixate on her. His kiss-ass eyes glow when he looks at her. Not that it's something James doesn't _understand_. Shepard has a way of turning even James into a fucking kitten when she looks at him. But it's different with them. Kaidan makes it look like it's something forced.

"That was _quite_ the negotiation you pulled off, by the way," he sucks up to her unabashadley.

James rolls his eyes.

"Having both the Quarians _and_ the Geth on our side? That's a very good thing," he smiles, "And not to mention -you totally took down a Reaper."

Shepard gives him a lazy smile and shifts her weight.

"Yu-up," she sighs, "Sure did."

James grins.

"Yes you did," he interjects proudly.

She turns and smiles at him.

"Hell yeah," she laughs in a sultry, even way, "Just a few more and we're done."

"Hallelujah," James says. He kind of sighs it. Because really, as much as he rags on Kaidan for kissing ass, it's impossible not to look starstruck when someone like Commander Shepard is staring at you.

"All right, I'm supposed to go see Liara to talk about some upgrades. I'll see you two around," she says and turns to leave.

James catches her eye before she has her back to them and she holds their gaze for a half a second. His insides feel warm.

"Commander," Kaidan says in parting.

"Commander," James mimics him on the same breath, not about to be one-upped.

She leaves the room and the tension floods back full force. Kaidan stands up from the chair and pushes away. James sits there, _el rey_ and his spoils.

"Thanks for the game, Major," he gloats.

"Have a good evening, Lieutenant," Kaidan says in a tight voice.

He storms out and leaves James in the haze of his victory.

_May the best man win. _


	19. Risa

_Bioware owns my yoga pants and these characters._

_I love you guys more than words can say! Thank you for your continuing support and feedback, I literally read every one throughout the day and get all excited and I drool and flail and sob everywhere. I'm kind of a mess. But in a lovely way! Thank you so much again and please keep sending me your thoughts and comments! They really do make my day. :)_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Risa**_  
_

There's a lull in activity on the Normandy. After the shitstorm with the Quarian and the Geth fizzled out, there was nothing to do. Wait for the Crucible. Wait for orders. Wait for the next world to get invaded. Wait, wait, _wait_.

And no one hates waiting more than Commander Shepard. James has noticed her patterns when she finds herself with nothing to do. Her hands twitch like she wants to wrap them around pistols, her eyes glitter and she starts to hold all her weight in her shoulders. She nods her head like a young boxer whenever spoken to and carries herself jauntily. Like she doesn't want to set her feet down for too long in one place.

So naturally, he's decided she needs some cheering up. She needs to de-stress a little. And what's more stress relieving than a night of mind-blowing sex?

Oh yeah -_nothing_.

His datapad glows as he types in the last bit of his message to her. He hits the send button with a wry smirk and reads over the relaying message.

_Lola –present for you up in your cabin_.

He knows she's got hers on her. And sure enough a moment after the message sends, her reply flashes on his screen.

_Consider me intrigued. Be up in a few minutes._

He smiles and throws the datapad aside. He does a quick scan of her humble abode –the one he's spent the last twenty minutes preparing for her. The lights are off. Two candles flicker on the table by the wraparound couch. In between them sits the most expensive bottle of wine he could afford. (And _find_ for that matter –it was damn hard tracking down alcohol. Surprising how much the galaxy can throw back when the end of the world rears its ugly head.)

There are flower petals leading from the doorway to the bed. Cheesy? Yes. A foolproof plan to get her naked? _Absolutamente_.

And just in case all of _that_ isn't enough to pique her interest, he just so happens to be propped up on the edge of her bed on one elbow, butt ass naked.

He won't lie –it's a little awkward lying there by himself. Posing naked with no one around is uncomfortable as shit. But he's not backing down now. He slaved over this fucking little romantic getaway and there's no way in hell he's letting it go to waste.

Shepard's face will be worth it. He envisions it to keep himself from chickening out. Her _azul_ eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing with desire, mouth pressed, dark skin flushed. His hope is that she'll be overcome with lust or something and rip of her clothes as soon as the door closes behind her. That would be _ideal_.

The door whirrs at the front of the room. James straightens and prepares himself with a sly grin in that direction, readying himself for her reaction.

_Ahí va nada. _

He clears his throat and straightens his chin. Flexes his arm that's propped on his hip a bit. The doors slide open with a decisive swish and the woman of his dreams enters.

"Shepard, I've got those schematics you-"

Or so he thought.

The Turian balks in the doorway. For a moment, neither of the two men know what to do. There's a terrible, frozen moment of silence. Then, James comes to his senses enough to remember he's got the fucking family jewels laying out for the goddamn world to see. He cries out in panic and scrambles back towards the front of the bed, gathering the sheets around his torso.

"Vakarian!" he yells.

"Spirits!" Garrus wrenches his head away and covers his eyes, "_James?_"

James fashions Shepard's smooth sheets around his waist like he would a towel and bunches them haistily at his hip. He's panting hard from the sheer terror and his bare chest heaves as he stares incredulously at the Turian.

"The hell are you doing up here, Scars?" he gasps.

Garrus peeks between his talons to make sure James is decent. When he confirms he is he then smoothly rights himself. Turian facial expressions are tricky but James is 99% positive the _hijo de puta_ is smirking.

"Could ask you the same question, Liuetenant."

Yeah. He's definitely fucking smirking.

"I….I was uh…just…you know what, no -I don't have to explain myself to you," James spits. His cheeks are on fire.

Hell, he _likes_ Garrus. Wasn't sure about him at first but he's grown on him. But this is definitely a level they were _never_ supposed to be on. _Jesus_.

"You talk big for a guy wrapped up in a sheet," Garrus says slyly.

Not much ruffles Vakarian. Shepard taught him that. Not that it takes anyone with supreme skils of observation to figure that out. He's collected when no one else is, levelheaded and usually the voice of reason out in the field. Naturally, he's taking this a lot smoother than James is. But _he_ isn't the one who just had his junk out, is he?

"Yeah, yeah, _que te den_," James mutters.

He bunches the sheet around him tighter and gets off the bed to flip on the lights. He glares as Garrus toes the flower petals on the floor.

"Hmm, nice touch. A little overdone if you ask me, but I admire your enthusiasm."

"If you're going try and give me advice, do yourself a favor and save it," James grunts.

He blows out the candles too with an angry huff of breath.

"Touchy," Garrus observes.

Maybe he's right. But after Kaidan trying to tell him he wasn't Shepard's _type_ –well, he's done with everyone else telling him what to do. And frankly he's sick of everyone in their business. He wanted to tell the world about him and Shepard in the first few days they got together. Now he understands her caution and the need for privacy.

"I just don't need anyone else on my ass about me and Shepard," James mutters.

"Kaidan bothering you?"

Garrus surprises him with a bit of insight. James raises his eyebrows and stops in his tracks.

"Oh come on, you didn't think you were the only one who saw it, did you? The kid follows her around like a lost puppy."

All right. He definitely likes Garrus. Never a doubt in his mind.

"Think she knows?" James asks and picks up the wine glasses from the table.

Garrus shrugs, leaning against the fish tank.

"Maybe," he says, "But it doesn't matter, she's with you. And she seems happy."

James looks up. Garrus might be smiling now. He can't be sure.

"So you're not gonna try and tell me to leave her alone?" James asks.

Garrus chuckles.

"Just keep her happy, James," he says and turns to go, "And if you don't, just remember Archangel knows where you sleep."

James laughs a little, feeling a hell of a lot lighter than he did a second ago.

"_And_ he's seen you naked," the Turian adds over his shoulder.

James scratches his head with his free hand.

"I'd rather be on the receiving end of your sniper rifle than be blackmailed with _that_, _hombre_."

"Then you'll remember our deal."

"Yes, sir," James smirks.

Garrus is just about to head out the door when it parts in front of him. Shepard appears in the doorway. She stops for a moment on the threshold, her eyes puzzled. Her gaze moves from Garrus, to James, to the sheets wrapped around his waist, to the wine glasses in his hands and then to the blown out candles on the table. Then her eyes move back to the two of them, volleying her blue confusion back and forth.

"Do I even want to know?"

Garrus side-steps her artfully.

"I was just leaving," he says and slides his datapad into her hands, "Here's those schematics you wanted to see me about."

She blinks down at them, "…Thanks."

Garrus waves a hand behind him and steps out the door. They close behind him with a dull smack, but not before his last comment slips through.

"Have fun, you two."

Shepard sets the datapad down on her desk and then moves towards James. He sets the wine glasses down a little bashfully as her eyes roam the room -they linger on his flower petals and the candles.

"Now's the part when you assure me you don't have a Turian fetish and you're not sleeping with my second in command behind my back," she purrs with a smirk in her eyes.

"I don't and I'm not," James sighs.

She comes closer and grips the lip of his makeshift sheet skirt by his abdomen.

"Are you naked?" she laughs lowly.

"No…I…well...yeah but –fuck, Shepard."

Her eyes search his and he turns away from her, too embarrassed to even explain. Fortunately, or maybe _unfortunately_, the puzzle pieces start to click together inside her head. Recognition washes over her face as she scans the flower petals and the wine and his bare chest again.

"Did you set this all up?" she murmurs.

"Yup," he grunts.

"And…Garrus…" her brow furrows in concentration.

"Garrus walked in on you, didn't he?" she sputters out the sentence. He can hear laughter bubbling behind her teeth.

He runs a hand down his face and doesn't say anything.

"He _did, _didn't he!" she laughs again.

"I left the fucking door unlocked because I figured you were gonna be right up!" he defends himself.

"Wow."

He glares at her. Her face is coy.

"How much did he see?" she's attempting to stifle her laughter. It's not working.

He sighs and tightens the sheets around him again.

"Let's just say I'm not going to be able to look him in the eye for a while."

"That bad, huh?" she hiccups.

"Glad you think it's funny_, Lola_."

She finally loses it. Her laughter is sudden, quick to start and loud. He's never heard her laugh this hard before in his life. She bends double in a fit and holds onto his forearm to keep from falling over. Her back heaves with laughter. And even though she's laughing at him, for some reason he can't help but _smile_.

God, it's good to hear her laugh. To see her happy. Even if it's at his expense.

He'll take what he can get.

"Come on," he grunts and wraps a thick arm around her waist.

Through her fit of laughter he picks her up and props her on his side, carrying her over to the bed before dumping her on the mattress. She rolls into a ball, her face bright red with her hysterics.

"Hey- I didn't get naked just so you could laugh at me," he growls over her, smiling as he starts kissing at her collar that vibrates with her laughter.

She muffles her giggles into his mouth when he tries to silence her with a kiss. He rolls her over until she pops up on top of him and he watches the flash of her smile glow brighter than the stars in her skylight. Her laughter fills the cabin and fills him too.

So -this isn't exactly the night he planned for the two of them.

But exposing himself to a Turian aside, in his opinion, this version is much better.


	20. Ocaso

_Bioware owns my keylime pie and these characters._

_Wowowowowow 100 reviews? Guys, I can't even tell you how ecstatic I am. Each of you is so special to me and I appreciate your feedback so much you don't even know! You are all literally flawless. :)_

_So in honor of 100 reviews and the 20th installment, I decided to write out what my ideal version of a James Citadel date would be, if Bioware wasn't a slut and let him be romanceable!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Ocaso**

The Citadel is always in motion.

But it's different today. The entire population is one thriving, nervous mass. It's probably a dick thing to think, but he's almost positive he likes it better like this. _Post-_Cereberus invasion.

At least people look like they get it now. They look like they understand that a war is knocking on their doors and that battening down the hatches isn't going to do shit. Not that he especially likes seeing the worried, drawn faces. Or the flickering eyes of people you can just tell have lost loved ones already.

But it's definitely an improvement from incessant throngs of smiling _idiotas_ the Citadel used to produce. No one's pretending anymore. That comforts him. But only a little.

He's standing outside the elevators by a shuttle car he's rented for the evening. Under his arm is a box and inside his _crema catalana _is probably melting. He shifts it to keep the dish from spilling over inside. He worked damn hard on it all day. Shepard had a meeting with the Asari councilor and instructed everyone to take the opportunity for some downtime. James spent the day in the mess hall whisking eggs like a mother fucker, praying to his _abuela_ to give him the strength to make her recipie the right way the first time.

Liara happened upon him during the process, finding him head to toe in egg and sugar about ready to give up on the idea completely.

"Shepard is very lucky to have someone who cares about her as much as you do," she had commented with a dainty smile before drifting away.

That gave him the motivation to finish. All in all, the final product didn't look so bad. He dipped a finger in it for confirmation and found it to be satisfactory. Definitely not as good as his _abuelas_, but nothing from his hands ever would be.

The elevator dings and James stands to attention. Shepard emerges from its shadowy depths, her look drawn. Even tired, she never ceases to stall him in his tracks. A breath dies in his lungs as he lets his eyes pass over her fine jaw, the dusted freckles across her olive-toned face, her dark satiny lips. He clears his throat and she snaps her eyes to him. The tightness leaves her face and a look of surprise replaces it.

"James?"

"Hey, Commander," he greets her.

He doesn't ask about the councilor. He kind of already knows that it's good news just by the fire in Shepard's eyes as she draws closer. They've hit something big. She's _excited_. Perfect. Good a time as any to try their date night over. But this time –with a few moderations.

"You feel like gettin' your mind off things?" he asks.

She smiles, her lips parting ever so slightly.

"You have no idea."

He nods his head in the direction of the shuttle.

"C'mon."

He climbs in the drivers side and puts the box gently in the back. She gets in beside him and glances at it.

"What's in there?"

"You'll see," he smirks.

"I thought you swore off romantic surprises."

Her voice teases him, and so do her eyes. He gives her a look while the doors close around them and then jams his fingers into a few buttons. The shuttle takes off gracefully.

"Only the ones that involve me being naked," he corrects her, guiding them into the steady flow of air traffic.

"Shame."

He looks over at her and she gives him a wry look, her blue eyes smirking like the devil. She then leans back in her seat and props her feet up on the dash.

"So this means you're not telling me where we're going either," she observes.

"_Correcto_."

He slides easily into a lane and watches the stream of traffic, like water in a river bed, buzz through the skyline of the Citadel. She's silent after that. He can almost hear the machines whirring inside her head, sorting through the days events, categorizing, organizing, prioritizing. He watches her profile when he gets the chance. Her face is harsh with its strength, but from the side it's practically poetic. The elegant slope of her nose, the natural curl to the edge of her mouth, her long, _long_ eyelashes. How'd he never notice how long those things where? He looks back at the road and sighs.

"James," she startles him.

He turns his head for a moment, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Anyone ever told you, you drive like an old woman?"

He sputters a laugh.

"I'm serious, move over, we're never going to get anywhere like this," she laughs. Her face is playful, cheeks rouged with excitement.

"Aw hell no," he grips the console protectively, "I've _seen_ you drive, Lola. It's not pretty."

She laughs. The husky sound fills the car. She knows just as well as he does the last time they were in a shuttle together she climbed out the fucking window to get on top of it, leaving him to try and get his ass over into the drivers seat before they swan dove into a building. She looks over at him, eyes glittering, and he tingles from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes.

"And this is a rental. I plan to give it back in one piece," he manages to find his voice again.

She props her arms behind her head and sighs, her smile still soft and _unbelievably_ sexy on her mouth.

"Whatever you say."

It takes ten more minutes to finally get to his destination of choice. They pull up and James parks the shuttle on the outcrop of the abandoned balcony. It's a big ass building that didn't really seem to make it past construction. It hasn't fallen prey to age or neglect yet. It stands tall and proud amidst the bustling mecca.

Shepard gives him a questioning glance and he merely grins at her, opening the doors and retrieving his box from the back seat. They both step out into the still bright evening. The wind whips at his shirt. He watches it tousle invisible fingers in Shepard's dark hair.

He seats himself on the edge of the outcrop and motions for her to join him. She comes to sit beside him with her knees drawn, a favorite pose of his, and watches as he opens up the box. _Ah_, success. The _crema catalana_ is still intact. He unwraps it with a delicate hand.

"You cook?" Shepard asks.

She sounds impressed. He gives her a sideways grin.

"A little," he shrugs, and watches with piqued interest as she spoons a bit into her mouth, "My _abuela_ taught me when I was just a kid."

Her eyes brighten when she swallows the spoonful.

"Don't sell yourself short, Lieutenant. This is amazing."

He grins wider.

"_Gracias_," he says with a soft incline of his head.

She helps herself to another spoonful and then leans back, coyly turning her cheek against her shoulder and gazing up at him from underneath those long, thick lashes of hers. He swallows.

"You didn't just bring me up here to an abandoned building just to fatten me up," she smiles.

"Right again," he says and then looks out over the outcrop.

He leans back until he's propped up on both elbows and turns his head to look at her. Now she's staring down at him and the light creates a dusty gold halo around her. He gestures with his chin to the vast reaches of the Citadel spread out before them.

"So you know how I told you I hated the Citadel?" he starts

"Only every chance you got."

She's smirking. Damn her. A buoyant feeling blossoms in his gut.

He shrugs his shoulders, "Yeah well, I dunno. I met a buddy here I used to train with back when I first joined the marines last time you gave the crew some downtime. He told me about this place. Said it might change my mind about being here. He said this spot right here has the best view of the Citadel sunset."

"The Citadel sunset?" she asks, tilting her head.

He nods.

"_Si_, well you know how the whole thing rotates on an axis, right? One half shadows the other when the sun is on it. So when it's night on one side, it's day on the other."

"Right," she nods.

"Apparently according to my buddy, if you get in just the right spot at just the right time you can catch a sunset on the edges of one of the ridges. So I went and scoped this place out last time I was here and turns out he was right."

"Never knew something like that existed," Shepard muses.

James shrugs again.

"Neither did I. But if there's one thing I miss most about Earth it's watching the sun set. You get to be on ships long enough you kinda forget what it's like."

He reaches for her and trails his fingers down the back of her arm.

"Figured we could both use the reminder."

She smiles down at him, eyes soft, perfect and _azul_. Her lips tremble around a smile before she leans over the half-finished bowl of _crema catalana_ and pressers her mouth to his. He cups the side of her face gently and inhales her sweetness. She draws a way a bit and breathes at his jaw.

"It's perfect."

"Surprise isn't over yet," he mumbles through a smile and kisses at her cheek.

"Don't tell me you're getting naked," she chuckles lowly.

"Not yet."

He maneuvers around her to stand and then helps her up. The sunlight starts to turn orange and spread as it hits the ridge.

Once they're both standing he holds a finger up to her and darts back toward the shuttle. Inside he powers the thing up and skirts his fingers across a few buttons. Music starts to drift out of the speakers. He opens both doors to let the sound out fully. Some guy his mother always used to play in the kitchen when he was young and his father was still around starts to croon in his native tongue. He remembers his mother dancing, his father dipping her so low that her hair would sweep the floor. And _dios_, when that woman would laugh. It was a beautiful thing.

He turns back and finds Shepard smiling with her eyes. The fading sun stains her gold. All her smooth lines glow. He returns to her and cups her hips in his hands. She bows her head toward his chest and raises her arms to wrap around his shoulders. He presses a kiss at her temple.

"Think you remember anything from our lesson?" he mumbles at her hairline.

She turns her head up and her eyes drown him.

"I might need a refresher," she hums.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

He spins her softly right on beat and then draws her back to him, moving their feet in slow patterns around the abandoned balcony. They dance close together, bodies never more than an inch apart, as the sun sets on the Citadel. It leaves whispers of gold around their feet before burying them in sweet, velvet darkness.


	21. Muerte

_Bioware owns my magnetic nail polish and these characters._

_3 Thank you so much for the continuing feedback guys! Sorry for the delay with this chapter, I was so beat last night and really wanted a clear head to write this one because it was important to me._

_Keep reading and reviewing, love you guys! :)_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Muerte**_  
_

Thessia falls in a scattered collage of images.

It happens so fast that James cant assign continuity to any of the events. His head is a map of stars with no constellations, no directionality, no order. The brutal collection of images and sensations assault him, each one is sharp. Hits him like a wall. Makes him flinch.

The dark sky. A seam of fire splitting the barriers as they land behind a poorly protected squad. Shepard climibing onto the turret with her armor gleaming too white admist the destruction. Each fire of the gun jolts her. Breaking through the barrier. Watching it close behind them –stepping into Hell.

Liara's voice frequents his jumbled processing.

"_To see the city like this…"_

Shepard's heavy voice, an anchor for them to hold onto.

"_It can be rebuilt. Just worry about the next twenty meters."_

He knows a blaze of gunfire and the harsh shrieks of monsters that were once Asari. The dark sky opens up like a wound splitting. There's a sudden image of Shepard pausing behind cover to rip a piece of shrapnel out of her arm. A ship goes down. His boots over the cracked marble. Shepard's light feet. Liara's panicked breath.

The temple. Santucary. Cool walls. A statue looming over them. His breath is hot and fast in his lungs. He's bleeding from a gash in his cheek. And is only vaguely aware of the two bodies on the floor. Slit throats. Dark blood splashed along the stairs. A sick twist in his stomach. Something is _wrong_.

Shepard reaches a hand out toward the statue. Liara babbles –it fades away. There's a moment of clarity for him while he watches Shepard's face draw down in concentration. Her lips press tight together, her eyelids flicker as if she's looking for answers in her own darkness. Then, the moment is passed. His stacatto awareness returns.

"_There's a Prothean beacon here."_

Long strings of light. Shepard's touch awakens it. The statue starts to crack along the Goddess's collar and abdomen. Light glistens through. A flash of pearly armor –Shepard darts about the room faster than he can keep track of her.

The Goddess falls. Loud crumbling stone. A chunk chips his armor. Green light. A new voice.

_"Is that a Prothean?"_

The fuck?

It talks, it moves. It says it's just a memory. It seems to stare straight through him. He swallows. Everything tastes like dirt and blood.

"_Your remaining time is also at an end,"_ the projection murmurs.

James fades out. Hears far away gunfire. Watches Shepard, her cheeks smudged with dirt and blood. Her hair full of Thessia dust. He sees a vein beating below her smoky jaw.

"_Tell us where the catalyst is…"_

It's like they're grasping for string. It slips between their fingers. There's a distinct hum of a gunship. He turns.

"_Indoctrinated presence detected."_

The Protean memory retreats. Sihouetted by lights, a figure comes forward. Through his piece by piece memory, he recognizes the sword.

"_You,"_ Shepard hisses.

This is the guy that killed Thane. He says he has a message. Illusive Man appears, talks some bullshit. Nothing new. He has enough sense to keep his gun trained on Kai Leng. He and Liara flank Shepard. Guard her. Protect her. His fingers sweat on the gun. His finger touches at the trigger. One shot.

Just _one._

Illusive Man dissolves into the ancient dust of the temple. His last words give James back his clarity.

"Leng –the Commander has something I need. Please reliever her of it and then bring me the data."

The assassin braces for action.

"Understood."

The world swings back into focus. James brings himself back to the present and widens his stance. He watches Shepard. Everythign is in slow motion now. He understands and retains the smallest details. He watches her come forward, waiting for her first move. Her armor gleams with the reflection of the falling world outside the temple's barriers. Her eyes are murderous. He's never seen a look like this before. Her arm sweeps up with her gun and she grits her teeth. The slender muscle in her jaw lengthens and tightens as she pulls the trigger.

The first shot explodes and rips apart the silence. Leng dodges it with an artful spin. James grunts and aims his own weapon at the _cabron_. No way in _fuck_ are they letting Cerberus get away with this data. His gun pulses. It dances in his hand.

But Leng is a slippery mother fucker. James is a damn good shot but he can't get the guy to hold still for long enough to lodge a bullet in him. Thankfully, Shepard and Liara's combined biotics hit him good a few times. He pauses, hesitates, just long enough and James takes the window of opportunity. He lines up a shot with a grimace and makes contact. A burst of blood clouds Leng's shoulder.

They have him. They _have_ him.

But the odds switch hands. Like a dirty move in poker. Leng ducks down.

"I've been hit! Cover me while I recharge!"

A hovering shadow swings into view. The inside of the temple lights up with gunfire.

"_Cobarde_," James hisses and ducks behind a pew.

"Gunship!" Liara warns. He watches her dive behind cover and then looks to make sure Shepard has enough sense to join her.

She doesn't. She's still shooting, and even through the haze of light he can see how heavy her eyes are. Electric blue. Volatile. She wants this guy _dead_. More than dead. She wants his head on a fucking platter.

"Shepard! Get down!" he screams, "Are you _loco!"_

A few jolts to her shields with the gunship's heavy cannons makes her come to her senses. She crashes back on her elbows, barriers crackling in a purple mess. Just as James is about to get up to aid her she manages to plant her feet and shove herself back behind cover.

The gunship cuts back and Leng is on the move again. The three launch their combined assault once more. They are methodic. Working like a well oiled machine. His gun is smoking. There's no time to replace the clip. Why won't this guy fucking _die_ already?

"There's only one way this ends."

Leng's voice is startlingly low and clear in the midst of the crossfire. The assassin drives his sword into the floor and runs forward. Liara lines up a shot but before she can pull the trigger, he strikes her gun away from her and hits her in the throat. He shoves her hard in the chest and she goes flying. James barely has time to plant his feet and ready his arms to catch her when she crashes into him. They both tumble to the floor. He tries to protect her with his body as much as he can but they fall apart from each other.

Dazed from his head smacking the marble under him, he rights himself and watches blearily as Shepard runs forward, each of her steps harmonizing with reports of her shotgun. Leng holds up a hand and deflects the bullets with a barrier.

Next to him, Liara pulls herself to her knees.

"You okay, Doc?" he coughs in the brief moment they have before he grabs his gun and tries to slide hers back over to her.

But she's not listening. Her eyes shock wide in Shepard's direction. He hears the distinct whine of the gunship back at the mouth of the temple and dread swallows him like a wave.

"_Shepard!_" Liara screams.

It's a second too late. The missiles launch into the temple. He tries to scramble to get to his feet to get to her. She's running back, trying to dodge the direct path. The first one hits and the foundation explodes. The second one goes off right next to him and Liara. The explosion deafens him and throws him back. He flips over a pew and crashes into a console. He feels the ribs on his right side make clean, agonizing breaks. He slumps onto the floor, blood clouding his vision. He can't hear a fucking thing. He can barely see. There's smoke, fire and a glorious fog of darkness circling his vision. Liara is unconscious twenty feet away from him, blood pooling under her head.

_Shepard_. Where's Shepard?

He sees her armor wink in the darkness. A pillar loosens from the ceiling as another missile strikes. He hears a far away boom and a strangled noise that he comes to realize is his own voice, screaming her name.

She's agile. Her body moves in ways he can't imagine. She's a panicked gazelle over the crumbling infrastructure. She launches herself over a gap in the floor to avoid the tumbling pillar and grabs a hold of the chunk as it starts to slide away. James struggles to his feet. He gets halfway up and then crashes back to his knees and elbows. His head his pounding. Blood splashes on the floor in front of him. _Get up. _

_Get up!_

He raises his head, struggling to stay conscious. Leng darts effortlessly over the floor towards the beacon. Behind him, James gets a view of Shepard's dark head of hair and the iridescent armor across her forearms as they grip the cracking foundation. Then, with a thunderous groan, all the sound in the room rushes back to him and Shepard drops from sight.

"_NO!"_ he screams.

He's crawling to get to her. His side is on fire. He tastes blood in his mouth. He calls for Liara, trying to rouse her. He can't get to Shepard fast enough. He's too late. _Too late_.

"Cerberus thanks you for all your hard work," Leng murmurs in the silence that follows the temple's withering.

He steps toward the console and James's vision goes black. His body falls. His mind withers.

But he fights it. He fights it for all he's fucking worth. He claws for the surface of his consciousness. Maybe he's not too late. She's not gone. She's _not_ gone. They haven't come this far to lose everything. He fights and fights and tears his way back to the present and his eyes snap open, sticky with hot blood. He draws in a ragged breath and shoves himself to his feet.

Leng is almost back at the ship. How long has he been out? Fuck, James doesn't care. He half stumbles, half runs to the place he last saw Shepard's sleek head of hair. He falls to his knees at the edge of the dark abyss. _Gracias a Dios_. There right under him -she's fucking _climbing_ up a dislodged piece of the floor. The gunship lifts off and the movement disturbs the last of the temple's fragments.

Shepard's pearly, armored fingers just manage to get the edge of the outcrop he's on before the piece she'd climbed up on unhinges and drops. He lunges forward, his body straining, bones resisting, and grabs the hand. He reaches down with his other arm to wrap around her shoulders and get a grip on her.

"Hold on," he pants, "I've got you."

He drags her up with all the strength he has left. Something snaps inside him. He ignores it and falls back with her. She's safe. _Safe_. He's so fucking happy for a moment he forgets what they just lost.

Shepard doesn't.

She shoves away from him and starts in a staggered run for the airstrip outside the temple. The gunship's shadow pulls off the ground. It gets smaller and smaller. James looks down at his hands. They're slick with blood. It's not his.

Shepard is limping for the gunship. Blood falls from her like rubies and leaves a trail. He follows it. Calls her name. But she won't stop. She leans down, nearly falls, and scoops a gun from the floor. She fires round after round into the air.

There's no use stopping her. He stalls ten feet behind her. Manages to help Liara to her feet when she regains consciousness. Up ahead, Shepard throws her gun to the ground and touches her hand to her earpiece. Her pearly armor is scarlet with her blood.

"_Is anyone on this frequency? My squad is trapped!"_ a voice crackles through.

"This is Shepard, give us your location."

He and Liara approach from behind her. He closes his eyes and listens to her voice. It's low and full of blood and darkness. It doesn't even _sound_ like her.

"_I repeat, is anyone on this frequency?"_

"We read you! Give us your location," Shepard is practically pleading.

Whoever is on the other line can't hear her. Just as well. Thessia was lost the minute Cerberus got the jump on them. There's nothing left on this world.

It'll burn –just like the others.

"_The Liuetenant is down, the whole zone's collapsing!"_

Another voice jumps in.

"_What happened to Shepard? Did they make it to the temple?_

Shepard's hand falls to her side.

"_I've got a Reaper inbound!"_

The fuckers drive the knife in and twist it. A dark, colossal and all too familiar figure drops from the sky. Another one follows it. He lowers his eyes and watches Shepard's blood drain onto the floor. A rivet of it slides and skims the edge of his boot.

"_By the Goddess –NO!"_

Shepard rips her earpiece out. Liara reaches a hand out to her but she wrenches out of the way of any comfort. She turns and she and James meet eyes for a moment. Her look is horrific. Bloodied, fearful, and _defeated_.

Then, all of a sudden it empties. Theirs is _nothing_ in her face. No passion. No heat. No sorrow. Her visage goes cold as death. Her eyes fade out into frozen blue pools. Her face passes away from him but the memory remains. It shakes him to his core. Makes him sick. He reaches out to her but all he touches his blood. It grows sticky between his fingers.

They return to the shuttle in silence.

And for James, Thessia falls in a kaleidoscope of blood, smoke and Shepard's dead eyes.


	22. Duda

_Bioware owns my new ink pen and these characters._

_So, for any of you wondering where the chapter before this went, I deeply apologize! After much consideration and re-reading I found that I just really wasn't happy with the way it came out. I felt like I had done James and my Shepard some injustice and had strayed too far out of character for them. This is an important scene, I always wanted to show post-Thessia on a deeper, more intimate level. But my first crack at it was too dark for my tastes, and didn't flow right. So I tried my hand at re-writing it today and I'm much happier with the result. So here it is! Again, I'm so sorry for the trouble -I just honestly couldn't get over that chapter. It was bugging the crap out of me!_

_So if this is your first time reading or your second time, enjoy! :)_

_EDIT: Ahh! Sorry guys! I didn't mean to delete it a second time -this is the second draft still, aka the final draft. My computer glitched on me and deleted this bad boy without me knowing it! Oopsie! Should be all set now!_

* * *

**Duda**

Hours later, he still can't shake the chill that Thessia's fall lacquered his bones with.

Can't quite get rid of Shepard's hollow eyes either. It's agony waiting for her. After Gloria sews up her side, she struggles off to the war room. She flits around the ship afterward. He knows as good as anyone that she doesn't want to sit still for too long, because if she _does_ it will all become real.

He's been doing much the same. After he gets his ribs put back together he buries himself in the cargo hold, keeping his hands busy. Esteban doesn't ask what happened. He doesn't say anything at all. It's better that way. James isn't sure he wants to relive what just happened.

It's late when he finally gets too restless for busy work. His eyes are burning from staring too long and too hard at things in the shadows. His ribs twinge a little when he leans back from the workbench and tilts his head toward the ceiling of the empty hangar. He clears his throat.

"EDI, where's the Commander?"

"_Commander Shepard is_ _currently in her cabin_."

"Thanks," he grunts.

He makes his way to the elevator and realizes how fucking _beat_ he is when he steps inside and slumps against the wall. The floors ping quietly as he ascends through the ship. He rolls his neck and shoulders. Everything hurts. He wants to sleep for twenty years.

But first –he has to see Shepard.

Her door is locked when he gets there, but she gave him the code a while ago. He punches in the numbers and the metal frame swishes open for him. He steps inside to find a dark. The doors push a cold air at his shoulder blades as they close behind him.

The room itself is a little colder than he remembers it being. Hollow. It doesn't invite. The fish tank bubbles warily and the lights are dim.

He finds Shepard easily. His eyes are trained to seek her out. Besides, she pulls attention towards herself unconsciously. It's impossible to ignore her presence. Everything in the room seems to exist solely for her. Every shred of light serves her and paints her. Every object frames her.

She's sitting at her desk with her forehead in her hand. Her regal face is light up orange from the data pad in front of her. Her armor has been shed after running around the ship all day in it but she hasn't bothered taking the clothing that was under it off. The dark tech leggings make her legs look long and spindly. The white tank top over her torso is still scarlet with bloodshed. It's dry now, but the color is still pretty fucking unsettling.

She nods her head at him when she turns gaze over her shoulder and sees him standing there. Her eyes don't smirk. They don't do anything. They just hang like two violet jewels in her face, heavy, cold and empty. He doesn't like it. It creeps him out. His skin crawls at the sight of her covered in dried blood and hovering over her data pad.

"Hey," she greets him in a low murmur.

He crosses the room to get to her and places his wide palms on her lean shoulders. The dark, satin skin there is cold. He massages his thumbs gently into her shoulder blades and works his fingers at the muscles above.

"How long have you been lookin' at that?" he asks when she turns her attention back to the datapad.

From the looks of it, it's Traynor's intel on Cerberus. It's pretty sparse. Not much to look at, though Shepard's probably been staring at it for hours.

"Too long," she confirms his suspicions with a resigned sigh.

She shoves the datapad away from her a bit and leans back. Her eyes close and she hums a heavenly note of appreciation for his massaging hands.

"Damn, Lola," he grunts, trying to work out a knot in her left shoulder. It's like a goddamn boulder.

"That bad?" she murmurs.

"Gonna have to have Esteban run over you with the shuttle to get these babies out."

She chuckles. But it's a hollow note. There's no warmth in it, and the emptiness is really starting to freak him out. He massages for a few more minutes, hoping to maybe relax her enough for her to come back to herself. Her shoulders feel good under his hands. They're cool and soft. He remembers other parts of her that are the same.

"You talked to the Asari Councilor?" he asks after a while.

"I did," her voice echoes.

"How'd it go?"

Dumb question. He already knows the answer.

"Worse than I expected," she says hoarsely.

Selfishly, he thanks God _he_ wasn't the one who had to make that call. How do you tell someone their home is gone? That a mission of that magnitude went down so bad? He had to make some tough calls like this to families of the guys he lost when he blew the Collector ship to hell–but this…this is worse. This makes all of that seem like _nada_.

"How's Doc taking it?" he applies more pressure to her shoulders.

They sag a little under his grip.

"She's devastated –she's blaming herself for not protecting her people."

He bows his head a little. His hands go still on her shoulders.

Fuck. How did everything go so wrong so fast?

"How about you?" he asks.

His hands leave her as he moves around and comes to lean against the desk in front of her. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at her.

"How're you holdin' up?"

Shadows cut down her face. But for someone so beat, she still manages to look like something out of a dream. The rich skin, the gently parted lips, the heavy, alluring contours of her face, the peak of her nose, the strong chin. She leans back further and shakes her head, like she can barely comprehend the question. A hand goes down the length of her face.

"I've been better," she arrives at the answer with some effort.

Her eyes stare hard at the surface of the desk. He wants them to smirk. He wants them to curl up, glitter, brim with fire –_anything_. But there's nothing there. They've emptied out and merely become windowpanes. Bright _azul_ windowpanes that let him see straight through her, right into her core where there's a whole different kind of war playing out.

She rubs at her forehead and he hears her breath siphon into a long exhale, like she's drawing every inch of space out of her body.

"Hey," he says. Her eyes flicker up to him.

"I _know_ that look, Lola," he gestures with his chin at her.  
She raises a questioning eyebrow at him. He gives her a measured, steady glance.

"After what happened to my squad back with the Collectors, I saw that same face every goddamn day in the mirror."

Her eyes drop to the surface of her desk again.

"Come on, you can't tell me you're not ripping yourself apart right now," he says, "I'm watchin' it happen."

She doesn't lift her eyes. But her shoulders soften a bit. Resignation flickers on the corners of her mouth.

"And I _know_ you. The minute Cerberus got away you had yourself convinced that it was your fault."

Her jaw tightens.

His eyes fall soft on her face. His fingers twitch on his folded arms. He wants to reach out to her but he can't. Not yet.

"Don't try and tell me I'm wrong."

Her eyes zero in on him all of a sudden.

"It was my responsibility," she responds.

"But you couldn't have known-"

"It's my job to be prepared. And I wasn't. And because of that, I let Cerberus walk away with the last shot we had at winning this war."

She leans over and her brow knits down.

"You can't think like that," he insists and uncrosses his arms "So what, they took the catalyst? We'll get it back. And we'll kill those sons of bitches for good while we're at it. But you gotta stay angry for it to work. You keep tearing yourself up like this and everything that makes you strong is gonna burn out."

She looks up at him tiredly.

"I know," she breathes after a moment and then runs a hand through her hair, "I know."

"Don't let your guilt define you, remember?" he prompts.

He pushes himself off the edge of the desk and then crouches until he's level with her. He smoothes his thumb over her cheek. It's silken and cool.

"You gotta believe we can win this thing," he says in a low voice.

She turns her head into his palm a bit and searches his face.

"But are we ready? How do you prepare for something like this?"

He smiles.

"Pretty sure we've prepared enough, Lola. You _did _manage to get every goddamn fleet in the galaxy working together.

Her eyes lock firmly onto his. The color makes him ache in all the right places.

"You're not scared?" she asks.

He snorts.

"Hell yeah I'm scared. Show me someone who isn't in this war and I'll bet you they're either _loco_ or full of shit."

A smile paints delicately on her mouth. Thin whispers of a grin.

"But _I_ know we can win this. We've got Commander fucking Shepard on our side."

Her smile trembles and widens a bit. A murmur of a laugh reignites something inside her. He reaches down and grabs her hands. Holding her eyes, he places a kiss across her curled fingers.

"And whether you like it or not, I'm gonna be with you the whole way. From beginning to end. Then when this is all over, we're gonna go some place warm and fucking _boring _and if I don't see another gun for the rest of my life that'll be just _estupendo_."

"We'll go stir crazy inside a week," she really laughs this time. It's weak and her body is tired, but she lets it out anyway. He warms him from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes.

"Maybe," he smirks and kisses at her wrist next, "But I'm sure there're a'couple other things we could do to keep ourselves busy."

"Something on your mind, Lieutenant?" she asks.

And low and behold, her eyes start to smirk at him.

It's a beautiful thing. He watches, nearly stunned into silence, as the light and fire start to flood back into her eyes. Passion. Purpose. Confidence. That steely, hard-ass look that turns him on like a switch.

"Maybe," he says, eyes flashing.

He stands and reaches forward to collect her into his arms. Her warm chuckle fans at his neck and it's all he can do to keep his knees steady as he lifts her from the chair. But instead of heading to the bed, he doubles back with her and heads for the bathroom.

"But not until you shower," he belts out a laugh and before she can protest he swings the two of them into the bathroom and shuts the metal door behind them.

He tightens one arm around her and reaches the other to twist on the shower head. She laughs as the water starts to rain down on them. It's warm and fresh. He sets her down on her feet and she looks up at him, glistening as the water droplets soak her. Her dark hair mats against her forehead and he reaches up to clear the dark strands away. He blinks through the water and finds her eyes fully restored. Blue-violet oceans. _Oh boy_.

She reaches up and grabs his dripping face with her slick palms. Her wet, sweet lips find his in the haze of water and she kisses him powerfully. When they have to break away to take a breath, he feels her fingers at the back of his neck.

"Thank you," she murmurs over the steady thrum of the water.

"I love you," he blurts out in response.

_Shit_. Well that wasn't exactly planned. He peeks an eye open and squints against the water. Her face looks surprised. But not resistant. Her eyes search his face and steam starts to curl around them. He watches a bead of water sail from her collar to her sternum before slipping under the lip of her tank top.

"I love you too James," she says after a moment.

It's sincere. It's low. It's the best damn thing he's ever heard come out of those satin lips of hers. A primal grunt escapes his throat and he spins her around and pushes her up against the wall of the shower. Her kisses her hungrily under the current of warm water and swirling steam and feels her body come alive under his hands.

Her light is returned, her fire restored. His is too. He feels it surging powerfully through his veins.

They can win this war.

Tonight, there's not a doubt in his mind.


	23. Salud

_Bioware owns my pretty new tapestry and these characters._

_Thank you guys for your continuing support and feedback! Keep reading and reviewing pretty please! It makes me happier than a clam in the sea :)_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

__**Salud**

Shepard takes two days to ready the ship and crew for the attack on Cerberus, per Adrmial Hackett's instructions. When the first night rolls around he's already restless. He understands the need for preparation. Or at least, he's _trying _to understand. It doesn't make the busywork any easier to grit his teeth through.

Just as he's ready to start complaining to Esteban about how goddamn _bored_ he is, he gets a call at his workbench from a familiar voice.

"_You around, Jimmy Vega_?"

James smirks and hits the intercom.

"Thought I told you not to call me that, Vakarian."

"_Last time I checked, I don't take orders from wise-ass Marines."_

James chuckles.

"Yeah, yeah, what'dyou want?"

"_Feel like having a drink? Lounge is empty, figured this was as good a night as any for a last hurrah, if it is our last."_

Damn. A beer _does_ sound good. And though he hasn't quite managed to get over the Turian seeing him naked, and he doesn't like the idea of celebrating because it might be their last chance –he can't turn the idea down. He's going crazy sitting down here staring at guns anyway.

"Sounds like a plan."

"_Meet you there."_

He checks in with Steve before he heads to the elevator.

"Esteban, they're havin' drinks up in the lounge. You comin'?" he peeks below the shuttle where Steve is making repairs diligently.

"Not tonight, I've got some work to finish up," he calls out from under the vehicle.

"You ever stop working, _hombre_?" James smirks.

He sees the flash of Steve's smile in the dark. A quiet understanding passes between them. James knows that for him, work is therapeutic. He doesn't stop working because the second he does he starts to remember everything he's lost. So James doesn't fight him on it.

"If you change your mind, you know where I am."

"Have a good time."

James gets to the crew deck within the next five minutes. When he steps into the lounge he finds Garrus reclined on one of the couches. Joker is there too. They both turn as he enters. Garrus raises his drink at him in greeting.

"Glad you could make it, Vega."

"Appreciate the invite," he says and makes his way to the bar.

He fishes a drink out from under the counter and then comes to sit at the other end of the couch from Garrus. Joker is perched in a chair opposite them and he takes a swig of his drink before gesturing at James.

"So you and Shepard, huh?" he asks and takes a swig of his beer before continuing, "Second weirdest couple no one saw coming."

"The first being you and EDI, right?" Garrus smirks.

"Duh," Joker says and belches.

James snorts. Dude's a real _chiflado_ but it's damn near impossible not to like him.

"What about you and Tali?" Joker grins wolfishly at Garrus.

Garrus blinks at him, unperturbed.

"I didn't know we were here just to discuss our romantic endeavors."

"What else is there to discuss?" Joker groans, "Everything else is just _depressing_. The Reapers, Cereberus, Illusive Man, war, people dying, blah blah blah. We talk about that enough."

"Can't argue with that," James shrugs and throws back a pull of his beer.

"What _I _really want to know is if Shepard's as crazy in bed as she looks," Joker cracks another grin.

James looks at him, then at Garrus.

"Is this guy serious?"

"Not even on his good days," the Turian sighs.

Joker holds up his hands, "Okay, okay. Subject change. I get it."

"Hallelujah," James mutters under his breath.

That's not an area of knowledge he wants to divulge to_ anyone_. Especially not Joker. There's a brief moment of silence as they try to come up with something that's _not_ depressing or entirely too personal.

"How about what we're all going to do when this damn war is over?" Garrus offers and shifts to rest his ankle on his opposite knee.

"Oooh, good one," Joker points at him.

"Personally, I'd like to go somewhere warm and _quiet_," the Turian muses.

"I'm with you," James nods, "The less shit going on the better, far as I'm concerned."

"Not me," Joker sighs and leans back.

"Not ready to give up the fast paced life yet, Jeff?" Garrus asks.

"Naw, but I mean can you guys really picture me in civilian life?"

James shakes his head. He really can't. What's Joker without a ship to pilot? He's a good guy but even he feels the oppressing hand of his limitations.

"I cant see you anywhere but the helm of a ship," Garrus laughs.

"Exactly," Joker murmurs, "Hey -maybe I'll have my _own_ ship by the time this whole thing is over."

"No one in the Alliance is _loco_ enough to give you your own ship," James snorts and takes another drink, almost draining his bottle. It feels good going down. Smooth. Familiar. Cold.

"Who knows? Maybe after we win they'll be so happy they'll start giving out ships to anyone," Joker shrugs.

James shrugs, "It could happen."

"Let's pray it doesn't," Garrus quips.

They sit around and bullshit for another hour. They laugh and drink, just enjoying each other's company. Somehow they get on the subject of him and Shepard again. Joker's a persistent bastard, he'll give him that. But Garrus manages to artfully direct the conversation away and instead focus on him and EDI, which proves interesting table talk for the next twenty minutes.

James is having a great fucking time and is just starting to feel buzzed after his seventh beer when Major Shithead Alenko comes walking in through the doors. James tightens up. His fingers close around the neck of his beer. He sees Garrus turn his head at him in slight alarm, predatory eyes gleaming.

"Kaidan!" Joker grins and turns on his seat, none the wiser.

"Am I interrupting something?" Kaidan asks, stopping in the doorway.

"Just a few drinks between friends," Garrus explains coolly, "Care to join us?"

_ Damn you, Vakarian_.

But Kaidan surprises him by shaking his head and turning his eyes on him instead.

"Actually, I was hoping to talk to Lieutenant Vega."

James blinks.

"Me?" he asks, like he can't believe his own ears.

Kaidan nods tightly.

James slowly gets up and brings his drink with him. He's gonna need it for whatever this is. He gestures it to Garrus and Joker.

"Thanks, guys," he murmurs in passing.

"See ya around, Vega," Joker gestures his own beer.

Garrus merely nods from his position on the couch. But in his eyes are a quiet warning. He doesn't want to see this get ugly any more than James wants to. Actually, to be honest James wouldn't have a problem with it getting messy. Grinding his fist into Alenko's face has always been a fantasy of his.

But as Kaidan leads him out of the lounge and to the starboard observataion deck, James doesn't sense his usual hositility. There's a steady, reserved manner about him that's throwing James off. What's this guys deal? They stop once the doors close to the observation deck and Kaidan stands at the window, looking out over the endless horizon of stars.

James is about to call him out on his weird behavior when he surprises him by speaking.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

James opens his mouth around a comeback that never comes. He expected the Major to say something biting. Something that would deserve a fist in the nose. But an apology? The fuck?

"I don't expect you to forgive me," Kaidan continues before James can get a word out, "But I needed to let you know."

James is still at a loss. He sets his beer down on the table and comes to stand next to Kaidan at the window.

"I don't get it," he says and scratches the back of his head.

Kaidan doesn't look at him. His shoulders shrug.

"We're going up against Cereberus tommorow. And after that we're taking on the Reapers. I don't think we can tackle either of them if we don't clear the air between us. We can't be focused on them if we're worried about getting shot in the back."

James's brow knits down. He doesn't have an argument for that, so he stays quiet.

Kaidan sighs.

"You were right, you know."

"About?" James watches his profile.

"About Shepard," Kaidan sags a little, "I had my chance with her. It was my decision to end it, and I couldn't accept responsibility for it when I started having second thoughts. And to see her with someone else killed me."

James couldn't fault him for hating his guts. If he threw away his shot with Shepard and watched her become involved with someone else, he'd plot ways to kill the _cabron_ in his sleep. He'd probably never apologize either. This has to be damn hard for Kaidan. To say this kind of shit to him. If the roles were switched, James is convinced he wouldn't have had the _cajones_ or the heart to do it.

"I didn't exactly make it easy on you_, hombre_," James murmurs, "I was a real ass to you every chance I got."

"I deserved it," Kaidan shrugs again, "I had no right to butt in. What Shepard and I had is over, and I think I've finally come to terms with it."

James nods and looks out over the stars with Kaidan. They stand shoulder to shoulder and for the first time, probably ever, there's not a sliver of tension standing between them.

" I'll always love her, but I can see she's happy with you," Kaidan continues, "And if I really love her, then I can let her go knowing that."

Kaidan finally turns to look at him. James meets his eyes.

"You're good for her," Kaidan admits. There's pain in his face when he says it, but the resolve is stronger.

Then, there's silence. For all the times he's wanted to bash Major Shithead Alenko's head in, he cant find any urge now. There's no fire in his gut, no anger, no fierce possessiveness over Shepard. He's just a guy, just like him. Thrown into this ugly mess of a war.

Hell, he might actually learn to like Twinkletoes.

James extends his hand. Kaidan looks down at it for a second and then brings his own to meet it. They shake.

"It's been an honor serving with you, Major Alenko, sir," James says.

Kaidan nods a few times as they continue to shake hands.

"Are we good?" he asks when they break apart.

"We're good, _hermano_," James smirks, "Now all we gotta do is take down Cerberus and the Reapers."

"Can't be too hard," Kaidan laughs gently.

"Nah."

They stand there awkwardly for another moment. James shoves his hands in his pockets. The stars play out before them. Finally, James gestures back the way they came with his thumb.

"I bet Garrus and Joker are still back there, you feel like havin' a drink?"

Kaidan looks him over once to see if he's being serious. When he confirms he is, a smile touches his eyes.

"Yeah. That sounds good, actually."

"_Bueno_, let's go."

They make their way back to the lounge and Joker already has drinks waiting for them. James drains his old beer and then cracks open a new one. Kaidan takes a heavy pull of his own. Garrus suddenly raises his glass.

"To destroying the Reapers for good," he says.

Joker raises his too, "Don't forget Cerberus!"

"_And_ Cerberus," Garrus chuckles faintly.

James smiles and raises his beer.

"And to Shepard," he says and meets eyes with Kaidan.

Kaidan nods and lifts his beer, an evenness spread along his face.

"Mmm," Garrus nods in agreement, "To _Shepard_."

They cheers and then all drink at once.


	24. Víspera

_Bioware owns my mango salsa crostini and these characters._

_Getting close to the end here, beautiful readers! I find it gets harder and harder to write chapters because I don't want it to end! :) Thank you so so so so much for your amazing reviews and the number of you reading. It really makes it so much more fun to see people responding and reading, I get so giddy. So keep 'em coming, babies! Tell your friends, tell your cat, tell the walls of your room! Love you guys, keep on reading!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Víspera**

The eve of battle.

The phrase makes it sound a lot prettier than it actually is.

There's nothing elegant or beautiful about the way Shepard's cabin holds the weight of the galaxy, or the way her eyes turn down and her mouth falters when he enters. He knows that face well. One she reserves only for private moments. A look of quiet fear. Serene terror.

"Hey," he greets her, and the word is heavy in his mouth.

He leans on the divider and crosses his arms over his chest. The datapad in her hands comes to rest on the bed.

"Hey."

Her voice is hoarse. Sexy in that rugged, effeminate way that's had him wrapped around her finger ever since they met.

"You okay?" he asks.

She gives him a firm nod and her _azul_ eyes cast over the floor.

"Yeah –you?"

"Good."

The heaviness in the room is almost suffocating. Most of it rests on Shepard's shoulders, but her aura is laden with the pressure as well. He feels himself being sucked in. His ribs compress under the crushing weight.

How the hell does she deal with this?"

"I figured you could use some company," he offers.

Her eyes find his.

"I could."

That's all the invitation he needs. He unfolds his arms and closes the distance between them. When he arrives in front of her he leans down and brings her face up to his. Her satin mouth is sweet and warm. He feels her take a breath in through her nose as they kiss.

They don't even have to speak to communicate what they need tonight. It's a wordless desire. Proximity, closeness, giving themselves to one another as fully and completely as possible.

They kiss softly. Unlike their usual bedroom routine, tonight they are tender and quiet. He pulls her shirt over her head, bearing her dark, unmarred skin and he kisses her neck almost sadly. Like they're old lovers at the end of their lives.

Damn. He's too young to feel this old.

She leans back against the mattress, a lean, dark animal. Graceful like a cat. He lumbers over her like an elephant but his touch is feather soft. He kisses the hollow of her throat and remembers all the things he loves about her. Those rosy nails drifting down his spine. The way she smells. The smoothness of her skin. The sweetness of her mouth. That tomboy hair all through his fingers.

His own shirt is shed and their skin meets. Shepard's hands move up his chest and he groans into her mouth. But there is no wild passion. Not tonight. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. As if it's not making love so much as it is saying goodbye. It makes him uneasy.

Her legs come around his middle and he hovers over her powerfully. But all of a sudden, her cool palm presses against his sternum and forces him back a little. Catching his breath, he glances at her dark face –lit blue from the fish tank- and her violet-blue eyes.

"James," she breathes his name low.

It's almost enough to send him over the edge right then and there. But the look in her eyes dissuades him.

"If this is our last night together I-"

"Don't," he stops her short and starts to kiss at her neck again.

Her back arches a little and he hears her sigh.

"James," she protests in a murmur.

"I said _don't_, Lola," he grunts against her shoulder, "I already know what you're going to say."

She doesn't say anything but her hands still on his back and her legs loosen a little. He pulls back a bit to look at her straight on. Her cheeks are ruddy with half-hearted desire, her lips parted and eyes hooded. But within that look he finds another. That fear he first pinned at Purgatory. The same expression she wore in the vid. When Thane died. When Thessia fell. Her vulnerability is fragile and kept under wraps. But it's there.

He's always seen right through her façade, just like she always saw through his.

"What am I going to say?" she whispers.

"Something about how we might not make it out of this alive," he answers.

Her eyes search his in the shadows. He stares at her evenly.

"I already told you, I'm gonna be there with you the whole way. Beginning to end. We're gonna finish this war together."

"But if we don't-" Shepard urges him.

"We're all making it out of this alive, Shepard," he says, "You, me, the crew, Earth, and all the other worlds you're gonna save by kicking these _hijo de putas_ in the balls."

He leans down and kisses her forehead.

"_Te prometo."_

That quiets her protests for good. She surges up against him with the power of an ocean wave and they grasp for each other wildly. Their clothes dissolve. The lovemaking is steady and fulfilling.

But when they fall asleep, he wakes up and finds her sitting on the edge of the bed with her elbows on her knees and her head bent. He comes up behind her brushes his fingers over her bare shoulder.

"Nightmare?"

She nods.

"The same one?"

She nods again and kneads her forehead.

"But this time I went up in flames too."

The words leave a hollow echo inside him as his blood freezes and his body chills.

His mother always used to say that dreams were glimpses into the future. That they could tell you things no one else could know. That they were omens. Warnings.

He prays to God she was wrong.


	25. Infierno

_Bioware owns my pink hand bag and these characters_!

_Keep on reading and reviewing, loves! It's gonna start to get intense in here!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Infierno**

It's easy to be optimistic after hitting the Cerberus base. They leave it in ruins. And Shepard leaves Kai Leng's body there and her words, a resonating echo, over his corpse.

_That was for Thane, you son of a bitch._

He thinks they're going to win this thing. He had this dumb ass belief that somehow Cerberus would be half the battle, and that they were already halfway through. The fleets had mobilized, Hackett had made this great speech to the Normandy, and James thought they had a _chance_.

He'd promised Shepard last night they had a chance. That they would both make it out of this alive. But he's sitting in the shuttle with her and Scars and he hears the fucking hellhole right outside the metal doors. Gunfire. Explisions. Heat and flame. Human pain. His stomach roils. Optimism has suddenly become a lot harder to sustain.

He watches Shepard stand. Her steely composure doesn't waver an inch today. Head to toe in pearly armor, her eyes like blue flames in her face, she is the messiah of her people. Her strength radiates off her.

Joker pops up on the communications board as she stands.

_"__Advance teams are away. Hammer's in position and waiting for you guys to clear a path."_

"Stay safe. I'll be back before you know it," she murmurs in response.

"_I'll hold you to that. Normandy out_."

James rubs at his forehead. Tries to block out the noise from beyond the shuttle. Shepard holds onto a bar in the ceiling and stares hard at the door.

"Closing in on the LZ, Commander," Esteban calls from the front.

Shepard moves. Both he and Scars watch her.

"How's it look?" she asks.

"Like hell, take a look for yourself."

The camera pops up in the place where Joker's face was moments before. The war torn streets outside start to filter through. A guttural sound makes its way into his throat. The roiling feeling in his gut freezes and tightens.

"God," he murmurs.

Shepard's face doesn't crack. There is not a hint of fear there. She won't let it show through –not today. But he knows her well enough to see the horror in the reflective light of her eyes. It's subtle. But there's no masking a look like that when you're watching your home burn.

It occurs to him he's never asked her where she's from.

"Doesn't look like home anymore," he says through clenched teeth.

Shepard doesn't stop staring at the camera feed until the shuttle jerks and Esteban calls from the front.

"Shit! We've got a lock, hold on!"

James instinctively grabs the sides of his seat. Shepard grips two hands above her head and Garrus braces himself. The shuttle lurches and something to their left explodes. The muffled reverberations of it pass right through his bones.

"Damn it," Esteban curses.

Shepard straightens herself and goes to stand behind him at the cockpit. James is reminded of that first day on Mars. Back when he was a little bitch to her about leaving Earth. When she came to stand behind him in that very same spot and put her hand on the back of his seat. How close she was –how even then he couldn't concentrate. He could barely remember how to fly the damn thing with her that close.

"Status," she barks and pulls him back into the present.

"That was the squad responsible for taking out that defense turret," Esteban explains.

"Who's on it now?"

"Nobody in the vicinity. All either deployed or shot down."

"Shit," James says under his breath.

"Drop us off," Shepard commands.

Garrus picks his head up. James shows no signs of surprise. He saw that coming from a mile away.

"Ma'am?" Esteban questions.

"We have to take that thing out before Hammer can land," Shepard nods.

She comes back into the body of the shuttle and James and Garrus stand to meet her. James unslings his gun from his shoulder and enjoys the weight of it in his hands. He's so fucking ready to shoot something. His fingers itch.

"Change of plan, people," Shepard unslings her own gun in that undeniably graceful way he's always admired, "We're going to take out that Hades cannon."

Garrus arms himself and James realizes how small their guns are in comparison to the thing they're supposed to be taking out.

"How the hell are we gonna do that?" he asks.

Esteban offers his advice, "That downed shuttle would have been carrying heavy weapons."

Shepard's eyes flash.

"Perfect."

Esteban takes them down toward the street. The noise gets louder. The vibrations heavier. The doors start to slide open and give a narrow glimpse into the desolation outside. The distinct smell of dust and blood waft in.

"This is gonna be hell!" James cries. As if they don't all already know.

The doors split apart and gunfire splits the calm air inside the shuttle. His shields take a few hits. He grunts through them and squares his shoulders, his eyes stare murderously out ahead of him.

"Now! Go, _go!_" Shepard orders.

He and Garrus flank her like artistry. They dive for cover. He lifts himself up and fires as many times as his clip will allow. He tries not to look around. But it's inevitable.

_Jesus_. This is no longer home. This is a war zone. An apocalyptic wasteland. Buildings have been reduced to ash, there are bodies lying in every fucking crevice, and Reapers crawl like insects over the rubble. There is nothing recognizable left. Earth has transformed into the lowest rings of hell.

And it's their job to take it the fuck back. A tall order if he ever got one.

"Move!" Shepard yells over the cacaophony of bullets and ships overhead.

She vaults herself over their cover, armor quickly diluted with dust and shrapnel, and he and Garrus follow. Her elegancy on the battlefield is awe inspiring, as usual. She darts over the rubble. Her feet never catch. She glides through the bullets, fists glowing as she sends a biotic power directly out in front of her and shoots an opposite target simultaneously. He hears her breath in his earpiece. Steady, sharp, determined.

It's brutal getting to the downed shuttle. Esteban has to clear out to get safe. The cannon blasts make the ground shake and blind James every thirty seconds. He can barely see to get a target. So he keeps running. Shepard's bright armor is never out of sight. One foot in front of the other, he follows her through hell.

No one speaks. Garrus is cool-headed and silent. Shepard leads wordlessly. And James, for once, has no victory cries or shit-talking to do. He's quiet too. This is not the place to enjoy himself. This is home. This is more serious than anything he's ever been up against.

He has to concentrate –he cant lose his focus here or he'll lose everything.

The silence only breaks for those who are on the radio channel. And for Esteban, who comes in as James is climbing up a hill of rubble.

"_Damn it, you've got airborne hostiles inbound! Gonna try to keep them off you."_

James almost runs into Shepard who stops and looks to the sky just as their shuttle streaks over their heads. He stops and looks with her just in time to see the side of it burst into flames.

"_I'm hit!"_ Esteban yells.

Fire bursts in his chest. He feels it go through his veins like a shock.

"_No!_" James yells, and is half ready to run after the fucking thing.

But before he can, Esteban, lucky _hijo de puta_, comes in.

"_I'm all right."_

He sounds breathless. But alive. _Gracias a Dios._

"You sure?" Shepard touches her ear piece.

"_Yeah, but I won't be picking you guys up. I've gotta land this bird quick."_

"Don't scare me like that, Esteban," he quips.

"Stay safe," Shepard orders him.

"_Anything for you."_

James tries to quiet the residual burn in his veins as they start to move again.

Hell deepens and grows more grotesque the farther they get into it. They make a good team, though. Shepard's elegance, Garrus's precision shots and James's brute strength –they are a well-oiled machine across the remanants of London. They make it to the shuttle and Shepard drops to the ground to pick up the M-920 Cain.

The hefty gun almost looks out of place in her lean arms. But she carries it well. There's nothing weak or fragile about her. Every line of her face is hard. Her blackened armor glints in an array of sharp, warning angles.

"That gun looks good on you, Commander!" he calls over as she widens her stance.

Through the shadows he sees a little smirk curl the corner of her mouth. Then, she fires. They all watch the projectile fly up and burrow deep into the cannon. There's a lull of silence and then a blast of orange light. It falls in a goddamn satisfying rumble.

"Hell yeah!" he finds himself cheering.

But it's too soon for victory. It feels sharp and bitter in his mouth. He replaces his clip and dives for cover again.

"_We need extraction,"_ Shepard radios.

They hold out until a shuttle comes to pick them up. He follows after her as she runs for the open doors, shooting left and right as he goes. He checks over his shoulders to make sure Scars is still holding up behind him, and once he's sure he leaps across the gap and thunders into the cool shuttle.

Garrus appears behind him, landing a little more gracefully, and the doors slam closed behind him. James allows himself to take a breath. There's a dark sheen of sweat spread all over his body and he can feel dust smudged across his cheeks. He wipes his forehead.

"Get us out of here, Corporal. Shepard -you okay?" The soldier that radioed them stands by the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm alive," Shepard heaves the words out. Her dark skin glitters with persperation.

"That you are."

An all too familiar voice welcomes them from the side. James turns and can't help but chuckle.

"Anderson!" Shepard grins.

Tough son of a bitch. How in the hell he and his men managed to hold out this long here blows his mind.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down, Shepard," he smiles in a weary, world-worn way.

Shepard shakes his hand and then they embrace.

"Good to see you," she murmurs.

She's told James how much she respects Anderson. A part of him feels like it's more than that. She grew up essentially an orphan on Earth. Anderson is the father figure she never had. It warms him a little to see them together. Anderson looks at her as proudly as a father might look upon a daughter who's accomplished as much as Shepard has, and she looks at him like he's her biggest hero.

Anderson nods at him next and holds out a hand.

"Lieutenant Vega," he greets.

"Sir," he reaches forward and shakes the outstretched hand.

They share a brief moment of understanding. As if they're both remembering what kind of soldier James was when Anderson found him on Omega, and what kind of soldier he is now. He's become the one they expected him to be, just as Anderson said. Body, mind, soul.

The Admiral nods a little, as if acknowledging this. When they finish shaking hands he claps a hand on his shoulder. His eyes seem to say, _Good job_.

James memorizes the look and then takes it with him. He burrows it deep down and keeps it safe. He'll need it if he wants to make it through the rest of the night alive.


	26. Júntos

_Bioware owns my oatmeal and these characters._

_Love you guys, thank you so much for continuing to read and review and be awesome! In the home stretch now :) Please keep sending me your comments, I can't tell you how much I appreciate them!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**Júntos**

Anderson briefs them on Earth's status. None of the news is good. Not that James expected any of it to be. His optimism flickers though. No way in hell is he giving up. He made a promise to Shepard and it's not one he intends to break. They're gonna find a way out of this shit. They have to.

They eventually land at the command base that's been holding on by a string and step out of the shuttle.

The sounds of war are muffled here. It makes him uneasy. And there's almost no one around. He expected it to be flooded with Hammer by now. He expresses this once he, Garrus and Shepard are alone.

Shepard breaks away from them and comes to stand on the outcrop, overlooking the rubble.

"A lot of them won't be making it," she murmurs. And they all know it's true.

Garrus bows his head a bit. James stares at the back of Shepard's.

"You two go on ahead. I'll catch up," she says next.

Garrus nods and moves to leave. James hesitates as she turns her gaze over her shoulder at him. He holds her eyes for a minute, questioning. She nods. _I'm fine_.

Reluctantly, he leaves her. He makes his way through the virtually empty base. Talks to a few soldiers readying weapons. They're scared. He doesn't blame them. But he doesn't have any words to comfort them. He tells them to stay sharp, to stay pissed, but they're all so tired words don't mean a goddamn thing anymore. They speak in gunfire and flames and the last, wavering breaths of the friends they've already lost.

He leaves them and tries to find a communication board while he waits for Shepard. No doubt she's making her rounds too. As much as she hates being called a hero, she's not stupid. She knows the kind of influence her presence has here. _Her_ words _can_ inspire.

A soldier directs him to the building where the connector is and he makes his way to it. His footfalls go in time with far off gunshots. He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at the black sky, light up with orange bursts of light from the battle raging on in space. A cloud of smoke fills the horizon on land. The Reaper's shilouettes create sharp, horrific patterns against the remains of London's buildings.

"Lieutenant."

A familiar voice turns him around. Kaidan's dark eyes address him in a reserved manner. James sighs, actually relieved to see him here.

"Major," he says and sticks out his hand.

They shake firmly. He's glad they cleared the air, too. Kaidan was right. They couldn't go into this thing without trusting one another. He would have hated to ride into hell and know someone hated his guts right behind him.

"Hard to see it like this," Kaidan murmurs when they break hands. He looks out over the horizon.

"Damn hard," James agrees, "I barely recognize it."

Silence lulls. It's not tense, more weary than anything. James searches the other man's face. Kaidan's fight isn't burned out, but he has a resolved look to him that unnerves James. Like he's ready to die. As if he's already accepted it.

"Guess I'll see you on the other side at the end of this," James emphasizes and then smirks, "I'll buy the first round."

Kaidan smiles a little. His head bows in a quick nod.

"It's been an honor, Liuetenant."

A dark feeling settles in James's stomach. Fuck -he wishes they hadn't been such jack asses to each other. Suddenly he feels as though there's a lot of time to make up between them. Kaidan's face seems to say there's none left. He might be right. And that terrifies him.

"Same," he says with a curt nod.

Kaidan turns.

"I should get back to my squad."

"Yeah."

James gives him another nod, this one more uncomfortable and stacatto. They part, -friends that could have been.

"Hey –Liuetentant," Kaidan calls just as James is about to head into the building.

He turns.

"Good luck out there," the Major smiles a bit.

James grins.

"You too, Blue."

It comes out all of a sudden, without him even really registering it.

"Blue?" Kaidan laughs.

James shrugs.

"Yeah, your biotics are always makin' you glow blue, y'know?"

Kaidan shakes his head a little, smiling.

"See you around, Liuetenant."

By the tone of his voice, James is pretty sure he approves.

James waves at him and then enters the building. It's cool. The windows are blown out, as are most of the walls. He comes forward and the man at the control panel looks up and nods at him.

"Who can I connect you to?"

"Steve Cortez."

A few buttons later, Steve materializes in front of him in a blue hologram. James grins at him, wishing it wasn't just a hologram so he could slap him on the shoulder or pull him into a bear hug or something.

"Glad to see you made it out in one piece, Esteban," he says.

His friend rubs the back of his head.

_"Sorry about that, got pretty dicey out there."_

"You're tellin' me."

Steve's face, even through the blue hologram squares, looks sad.

"_How are they doing down there?"_he asks.

James shrugs.

"Not great, _hombre_. There's not a lot of them here. They're tired, too."

_"And Shepard?"_

James swallows. He sends a quick look over at the man at the control panels. He doesn't seem to be listening actively, or if he is he's pretending not to. James looks back up at Esteban.

"She's tough as hell, makin' her rounds right now."

Silence falls over them too. But of course, it's never really silence. There's always the backdrop of thunderous explosions and that tinge in the air of human suffering. His skin crawls.

"_Are you ready?"_ Esteban finally asks.

James nods.

"Yeah. Hell yeah."

"_Good answer,"_ his friend smiles a little.

James tries to look as brave as his voice makes him sound.

"We'll get it done, Esteban."

_"I know you will."_

James goes to step away. They both have things to do. And he doesn't want this to be a goodbye. But then, why contact Steve at all? His actions contradict his heart. He doesn't want this to be goodbye and yet he called him for closure. If he's _not_ going to make it out of this alive, he couldn't bear the thought of not talking to him. But he _will_ make it out alive. He has to.

He promised. Right?

"All right. Talk to you later, _amigo_," James murmurs.

"_Come back alive, James."_

Steve fades out and the man at the control panel looks up at him.

"Can I connect you to someone else?"

"No -thanks."

He makes his way back out of the building. Kaidan is gone. Most everyone has cleared out. And there's still no sign of Shepard. He finds himself at a row of soldiers by a tank. They salute him and he salutes back.

He talks to them for a while. Tries to instill some inspiration, some hope. He tries to give them some kind of sign that there's still fight left in this damn army and that they're the future. But he's never been particularly good with words. His fall short. They listen, but nothing sinks in.

It's almost a relief when Shepard appears at his arm. He turns away from the soldiers and walks a few steps away for privacy.

"Hey, Commander," he says.

Her cheeks are smudged with dust and the ruin of London. But her eyes burn in the matte finish of her dark skin. They smirk at him, curling a little bit in the corners.

"What, not Lola?" she whispers.

He reaches up and cups the bottom of her jaw tenderly.

"Fine. Hey, _Lola."_

"That's better."

He strokes his thumb along her jaw bone before releasing her. He turns and looks out over the war torn horizon again.

"You okay?" she asks.

Kind of funny that she's the one asking that question. He's not the one who has the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. But that's always been Shepard. Looking out for everyone else but herself. He still cant get over just _how_ wrong he was to think she was selfish for leaving Earth that first day. Blows his mind.

"I dont know what I thought I'd feel coming back to Earth. I was ready to fight. Ready to die if I had to," he says, "But seeing everything like this..."

His voice trails off. His blood hardens in his veins.

Shepard nods and sends her gaze over his shoulder.

"I know it's hard to see it like this, but it's only temporary."

It can be rebuilt. He remembers her saying that about Thessia. The task seems so insourmountable. Easy to say, not so easy to picture.

"First we have to win this thing –stay focused, don't let them take your will to fight," she whispers.

"I know, I know," he says, "You're right."

He turns back to her. God, she is so _beautiful_. Her beauty is raw and it tears right through him. Her full lips and the smooth plane of her cheeks –those goddamn _eyes_ of hers. This isn't goodbye. This can't be goodbye.

"So this is it," he offers, "One last push, one last fight."

She smiles a little and loops an arm around herself.

"Not necessarily our last."

He wants to smile, but he can't. He takes her hand.

"Shepard."

Her eyes search him expectantly. But he finds after he says her name, he can't find any more words.

"I…"

She surprises him by leaning forward and kissing him passionately. Her sweet mouth drives him wild. The noise of battle fades out for just an instant. The soldiers by the tank start to cheer and holler at them. He murmurs a laugh against her mouth. When they break away she's smiling. He gives the finger to the row of soldiers and they laugh harder.

"I thought you said no goodbye speeches," she murmurs close to his ear.

"This isn't goodbye," he defends himself a little breathlessly.

She kisses him again and they communicate through the only language that has ever really suited them. Her kiss says, _I love you_. He grabs a hold of her waist and brings her closer, answering hher back.

_I love you too. More than anything. _

When they break apart again she takes a soft breath and looks up at him with glittering, luminescent eyes.

"Ready?" she breathes.

"Born ready –let's do this," he nods.

She nods and her fingers trail down his arm and then drift away as she turns to go. He reaches for her on instinct and pulls her back gently.

"Together," he says, "From beginning to end, remember?"

She nods at him, but her gaze looks past him.

"Together."

That's all the time they're given. They meet Anderson in a holed out room for a debriefing after that and things start to move as if in fast-forward. James struggles to keep up with it all. He zeroes on on Anderson's steady voice.

"They know we're coming. This will be a one-way trip for many of us. But there can be no retreat, no stepping back."

James inhales a sharp breath. He stands behind Shepard with the rest of the Normandy crew.

"Move forward at all costs, understood?" Anderson says in finality.

The room erupts into a heated report. Soldiers yell and pump fists in the air. James joins them. Up ahead, Shepard salutes Anderson. Then the room starts to empty. The first squad clears out and the others disperse. Anderson and Shepard talk privately for a moment and then he leaves her –and she returns to them.

They stand in a half circle with her at the head. Her crew. Her friends. Her comrades. He and Scars stand shoulder to shoulder. They're the ones who are going in with her into no man's land. It feels too close, too real. His skin is hot. He's burning under his armor as Shepard steps forward to address them.

"This war's brought us pain and suffering and loss," she begins.

Her eyes pass around the group.

"But it's also brought us together –as soldiers, allies and friends."

Liara and Tali stand side by side next to him. He watches Liara's shoulders rise with a deep breath.

"This bond that ties us together is something the Reapers will never understand."

He meets Shepard's blazing _azul_ gaze.

"It's more powerful than any weapon, stronger than any ship. It can't be taken or destroyed."

For a moment, he feels like she's only talking to him.

He remembers things they've shared. The stars in her skylight, their dancing steps over the abaonded balcony on the Citadel, her husky notes of laughter, her smooth dark skin, quiet nights in her cabin, meeting eyes across the room, through crowds, even in the field.

He remembers all the instances before he knew loved her. How many times he ogled her in her armor. How his palms got sweaty when she was around, how he stumbled over his words, how he could never find the right thing to say.

And now here they are. Miles away from his schoolboy crush. Miles away from anything safe or familiar.

"The next fewhours will decide the fate of everyone in the galaxy," she starts to pace in front of them, "Every mother. Every son. Every unborn child."

He doesn't miss the way Tali turns her head and exchanges a look with Garrus right then.

"They're trusting you, depending on you to win them their future."

Shepard stops.

"A future free from the Reapers."

The phrase rings in the small space. It's buoyant and hopeful. It rises between them all. He tries to hold onto the image. A future he and Shepard can grow old in together. Hell, maybe even where their kids can grow old.

"But take heart. Look around you, you're not in this fight alone."

The crew looks around. He meets eyes with Kaidan. They pass a nod between them.

Shepard unfolds her arms and passes her gaze to each of them. When she lands on James, he holds her eyes for a moment. They curl in the corners a little.

"We face our enemy together, and _together_ -we will defeat them."


	27. Sangre

**Sangre**

No man's land.

Cut in half by a blinding white beam of light.

They've taken down a Reaper, cleared buildings and made it through hell. But all of their accomplishments mean nothing now. James stares down the vast expanse of what used to be London streets. The stretch is black and bloody. It churns with fire. Bodies litter the ravaged terrain. And at the center of it all –the beam. Their destination. The objective.

He and Scars stand behind Shepard, overlooking the bloody expanse.

She doesn't waist any time in jumping down the rockface and landing right in the middle of it. He follows behind her. His boots slam against the rocks and dirt. The movement jars his tired muscles. He's been running around in a hundred pounds of armor for the last two hours. His body _should_ be about ready to give out. But at every turn, he finds more energy. He finds more to be angry about. More to fight for.

He replenishes himself with things that fuel him. Glimpses of Shepard's blazing eyes. The memory of Anderson's pride. Thoughts about his Uncle –if he's even still alive. A future free from the Reapers.

His boots start to pound over the rock and rubble after Shepard. It's so loud in the epicenter of the chaos he can't hear a damn thing. His ears ring wth explosion after explosion. The ground shakes under them. His breath is ragged in his lungs.

One foot in front of the other. _Go_.

He thinks mostly about the future as he runs. A future without the Reapers, like Shepard said. He holds the image of it in his chest and lets it nourish him as he tears across the battlefield. A galaxy rebuilt in peace. A future worth all of this for.

Red light throws them all off balance every few steps. The Reaper's firing system is unforgiving. It cracks the ground. Obliderates tanks, cars -_soldiers._

Run. Keep running.

He follows the last glimmers of Shepard's armor that stick out admist the dust and grime.

Run.

Run.

Run.

One foot in front of the other.

A red beam takes out three soldiers up in front of them. It rocks the ground so hard Shepard stumbles over sideways. She doesn't fall. Her hands grab the earth and push herself back up mid-run. She's faster than he and Garrus are. She's twenty feet up when one of the cars in front of them is blown upwards.

"_Shepard!_" he yells.

No one can hear him. He can't even hear himself.

Up in front, Shepard skids to flatten herself against the ground. There's a cloud of smoke and he's screaming fucking bloody murder, pumping his legs to try and get to her. But the car flips over and she pops up from under it, unscathed. He thinks he hears Scars say something in response but it's muffled by the defeaning sounds of battle.

Shepard pauses to look back at them.

He gets one last glimpse of her face before a shadow overtakes him.

He looks up to see another airborne car. He and Garrus stand directly in its path.

"_Move!"_ the Turian screams.

That time, James hears him.

But there's no time to get clear. He launches himself to the right just before the thing can crash on top of him. He hits the ground on his elbows before the explosion of the crash throws him back.

There's nothing but orange light for a moment. A deafeaning crackle in his ears. Then –there's pain. Debilitating. Screaming, white hot. Unlike anything he's ever felt before. Blood wets the ground under him and he's not sure where it's coming from. His vision swims. He tries to move but the attempt is agonizing. He cries out and blood fills his mouth. His elbow plants in the dirt.

From over top the crashed car, Shepard's armor gleams. Her feet skirt on the metal underbelly of it before she vaults off. She lands in a feral crouch on the ground in front of it and then picks up at a run to get to him.

Garrus pulls himself to his knees next to him. He nods at Shepard when she signals to him and pulls himself to his feet. James tries, but there's so much _blood_. He's fucking slipping in his own red puddles. He chokes on a breath as Shepard arrives next to him and slings his arm around her shoulders.

It's a feat of superhuman strength that she actually picks him up from the ground. He tries to get his legs under him to help her along as the make their way to the smoking car and crouch down behind it. Garrus joins them. His leg is messed up pretty good but his eyes are alert. They pass over the both of them.

"Fuck," James hisses through his bloody teeth.

Leave it to fucking Harbinger to throw a goddamn car at him.

Shepard's last bits of pearly armor gleam scarlet. James coughs and tries to drag in a breath. She places a hand on his shoulder.

He nods at her quickly. He's okay. He's _okay_.

But he's not. They both know it. There's so much blood between them he wonders how the fuck he has any left inside him.

"Normandy, do you copy?" Shepard calls, touching at her ear piece.

_No._

_ "_I need an evac! _Right now!_"

"No!" James coughs out, audibly this time.

He knows what she's trying to do. He shakes his head but it falls limply to his chest. He doenst have the strength to hold himself up any more.

"_We're taking heavy losses up here, Commander," _Joker crackles through his earpiece.

Shepard's hands are all over him. He thinks she might be trying to staunch the blood. It's a lost cause. She puts her red soaked hand back up to her ear piece when Joker comes through again.

"_On my way, Commander!"_

The Normandy lumbers in to the battlefield and comes up to them. The loading dock opens up. A few soldiers stand armed on the platform and shoot rounds out into the black depths of hell. Shepard grabs his arm and slings it around her again.

"Come on," she heaves out the words.

"Shepard," he croaks out. His voice is lost in the sounds of war.

He stumbles along with her and Garrus limps behind them until they get to the platform. Garrus sidesteps and Shepard maneruvers James up to him.

"Here –take him," she says breathlessly.

James doesn't have the blood left to fight. Garrus leans down and Shepard passes him off. He hangs loosely in the Turian's grip, his eyes blazing.

"Shepard," he calls to her, his voice stronger this time.

She stalls at the base of the platform.

"You have to get out of here," she says, pain clear on her face.

"Bullshit!" he yells.

"Don't argue with me, James."

Her words are firm but he hears the darkness in her tone. Her eyes blaze blue and hollow at him.

"I can still fight," he insists, but Garrus shifts him to keep a better hold and the pain explodes across his back and chest. He clenches his teeth and turns what should have been an agonized scream into a grunt.

"Just…just give me my gun," he begs her.

She suddenly comes up the platform, closing the distance between them. Her hand touches the side of his face. Her touch unravels him. The anger in him breaks into a million pieces. His face crumples and resignation settles over him like a wave.

"Don't do this," he whispers in a ragged breath.

"I need to know you're getting out of this alive," she says.

He struggles to get a breath. He reaches up with his free hand not slung around Garrus and grabs hers.

"Together," he chokes, "Beginning… beginning to end. Remember?"

"This is the end, James," she murmurs.

"No," he growls.

Her eyes level with his. _Azul_ as oceans.

"No matter what happens, I will _always_ love you."

She kisses him softly. Then, she breaks away and her steps start to descend the platform. He watches her go. Panic sets in.

No.

He _promised_ her.

This isn't how it's supposed to happen. This isn't right.

"No! _Lola_!" he calls after her, "God damn it!"

But he knows she's already gone. His fingers curl around the air as his blood drips on the platform.

"Go!" she barks.

His arm falls back to his side. They share one last look and then she turns on her heels and sprints back into no man's land. The shadows swallow her bloody armor up whole. The soldiers on the edge of the platform make their way back up and the hangar door starts to close.

It seals shut and the Normandy takes off. There's not a fucking thing he can do about it.

He shoves out of Garrus's grip and runs forward anyway, as if he's going to break down the door and get to her. Garrus doesn't stop him. He lets him go, only for him to make it three staggering steps before he falls to his knees. His blood splashes against the floor. His breath rips through his lungs. He falls forward and plants his hands on the floor –his vision swims.

_No_, _no, no, no_. This isn't how it was supposed to happen.

He _promised_.

"Leiutenant!" one of the soldiers calls to him from his right and makes a move to get to him.

"Stand down, I've got him."

A voice comes at his elbow and from the corner of his eye, Kaidan bends down beside him. He slings his arm around his shoulder and heaves him up from the floor. James breathes hard. His boots slip in his blood. Kaidan supports him and they make their way through the cargo hold.

"James!"

He hears Esteban's voice from somewhere to his right. He doenst have the energy to move to look for him. He concentrates on staying upright in Kaidan's grasp.

One foot in front of the other.

Bleary eyed, he imagines Shepard's winking, bright armor out in front of him. He follows her beacon as Kaidan shuffles him into the elevator.

"Hold on," he murmurs to him, "Just hold on."

But what's there even to hold onto? Shepard is down there. And he's not. The pain of that is worse than any of his wounds. It's sharp and it drives right into his very core.

Right where all the memory of her resides.

Through a haze, Kaidan brings him to the med bay. He helps him onto one of the beds and Chakwas sets to work on him. He fades in and out. Through intermittent glimpses of unconsciousness, his dreams are fitful and full of a hooded blue gaze and a satin mouth.

He fights to stay awake for a while. Kaidan sits in a chair at his bedside with his chin in his fist.

But pretty soon, the will to fight leaves him.

The pain finally breaks him.

He slips into complete darkness without a hint of her left to hold on to.


	28. Memoria

**Memoria**

He's standing in Shepard's empty cabin.

His nostrils flare. His heart thuds in his chest. He lumbers a few steps forward and absently reaches and arm out to touch the wall.

He's been awake for a few days and there are a few things he knows for sure.

The Reapers have been destroyed.

Earth is safe.

The Normandy and crew are alive.

The galaxy has a future.

Its inhabitants embrace peace.

But he still feels like he's in the middle of a war.

His fingers run over the smooth surface of the wall. A place he distinctly remembers Shepard leaning up against, with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes smirking at him from his position on her bed. He closes his eyes and tries to recreate her.

He knew it the second he woke up. Kaidan's face didn't mask a goddamn thing. He'd been vigil at James's bedside and he didn't have to say a word when James opened his eyes and turned his head over at him. One look was enough. The harrowing darkness of pain in his eyes was sharp and all too familiar.

Kaidan's the only person in the galaxy who knows exactly what James has lost.

Because he lost her too. Twice, in fact.

But James's misery doesn't like company.

He avoids Kaidan. He avoids everyone. The Normandy has been stranded on paradise fucking island, or wherever they are, for a few days now and he hasn't even been outside. He's roams the darkest parts of the ship like a blind animal, his greif trailing behind him like a snake. The bar is the one place he allows himself to frequent. It's still fully stocked. Might as well make use of it while they still have it.

He was just there, actually. And his blood is still swimming with licquor. He would have stayed there all night if Tali hadn't appeared behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"James," she murmured.

He pulled out of her touch and left his drink on the table. He left without a word, but sent one last look over his shoulder to see her with her arm looped around her side and her head bowed.

He's not stupid. He knows everyone else misses her. Shepard was a legend, a friend, and a hero to all of them. But he doesn't want to share any of their pain. He has more than enough on his shoulders as it is.

He's not ready to sit around and tell stories about her or praise her heroism. He's not ready to accept condolences or pity.

He's not ready to forgive her, either.

His fingers curl into a fist against the wall. With a roar of pain he reels back and slams it into the metal. It clangs loudly on impact. His knuckles spasm with pain. So does his stitching that runs from the top of his shoulder all the way down to his abdomen.

He staggers another step forward. The licquor hardens in his blood.

Nothing is out of place. Everything is right where she left it. Tinged with blue from the fish tank, her cold data pad lays on the desk. The chair is pulled out a bit like she was just sitting there. Her bed is crisp and made up just as she always had it. There's a cup on the table. Her clothes by her bed.

He smells her all of a sudden. That sweet, honey scent. It's all over the fucking room. Everywhere she drifted she left parts of her behind for him to recover. An imaginary hand trails around the back of his neck, her rosy fingernails tickling the hem of his shirt. Her dark skin gleams. Her hooded gaze floods his head.

Something inside him snaps.

He flips over the table. Chucks the data pad into the wall. Throws a book. He starts to rip the covers off her bed and heave the mattress over. The smell intensifies. He remembers the feel of her hair. The smooth unmarred skin of her abdomen. Her husky, low laugh in his ear. He knocks over the nightstand. Kicks over the chair. Shatters the glass divider.

He's two goddamn seconds from putting a hole through the fish tank when someone calls his name.

"James!"

He whips around, half-crazed and shaking. Steve stands in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" he asks in a softer voice. Recgonition washes over his face.

"Leave," James hisses out.

"James –listen to me," Steve steps into the room with his hand stretched out.

James stiffens. His breath saws in and out through his nose. His fists are clenched at his sides and Shepard's room looks like a battlefield around him.

He sees her everywhere. Washing her hair in the bathroom. Leaning over her private terminal to check email. Lying on the bed in nothing but one of those pretty white sheets and smirking at him with her eyes.

He feels sick with rage. Steve draws closer.

"You know she wouldn't want to see you like this," he whispers.

"I said _leave_," James growls.

"You know if she were here she w-"

"But she's _not_ here," James's eyes blaze in his head, "She's not here because I wasn't there to protect her. I left her."

He gears up and sends another fist at the wall. It groans under the pressure. His bones do the same.

"She's not here because she knew what needed to be done to save the glaxay! If you'd have gone with her you would have been dead too!" Steve says, his voice rising.

James ignores him. He turns away and looks for something else to throw. He gets a glimpse of the skylight and the stars are too far away in it. His rage boils over. He grabs the lamp beside the bed and pitches it across the room. He sends his foot into the stand and goes to throw his fist into the headboard of the bed.

A hand holds him back.

"You think all of this makes it hurt less?" Steve barks at him when he wrenches out of his grip and spins around to face him.

His friend gestures an arm to the destroyed room.

"You think being angry will bring her back?" he asks, "It _doesn't._ Believe me, I tried everything when I lost Robert. I tried being angry, I tried bargaining, I tried closing myself off –but _none_ of it works, James. None of it brings them back."

James's fists unclench at his side. He'd forgotten -Kaidan isn't the only one who knows exactly what he's lost.

"Shepard's the one who helped me start living again. She gave me something to believe in. She gave me strength," his voice lowers and he puts a hand on James's shoulder, "I know she'd want the same for you."

The rage in him burns out. The alcohol weakens him. All of his emotions these last few days are quick to start and quick to self-destruct. He stills. His body becomes stone. He sees Shepard at the foot of the bed, her violet-blue gaze soft on his face.

"I…" he chokes out the word and then his chest trembles, "I _promised_ her, Esteban."

Tears fill his eyes and slip down one by one. They paint the scars across his cheeks. Scars that still remember her curious touch. Her silken fingertips. His heavy shoulders start to shake and it's all he can do to keep himself standing upright as the tears turn into subdued, agonized sobs.

"I _promised_ her."

He sinks to the edge of the bed. The hard edge without the mattress jars him. He leans forward and puts his face in his hands. Cries like a goddamn baby.

Steve comes to sit next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Everything feels wrong without her," James chokes.

"I know."

And he does. There was a time when James couldn't fathom the kind of pain Steve had to go through losing the love of his life. He hadn't loved anyone that strongly then.

Now, he knows exactly how he feels. And it's a thousand times worse than he ever could have imagined.

He's in pain that he never thought possible. And everyone else in the galaxy is fucking _celebrating._

"Just…just tell me I'm not gonna feel like this for the rest of my life," he whispers, his chest heaving.

Steve's hand squeezes his shoulder.

"I can't."

James's face tightens and his eyes squeeze shut.

"But you find ways to overcome it, you find things to live for," his friend continues, "You just have to be patient."

"Not my strong suit, _hombre,"_ James murmurs with mirthless humor.

"No," Steve smiles a little, "But I believe in you. And I know she does too. Do it for her, if not for yourself."

James lowers his head further and ducks a nod into his tear stained hands.

For Shepard. That makes it easy. There's nothing he wouldn't still do for her.

Esteban stays with him until he rebuilds himself in her ruined room, and when he finally pulls himself to his feet he vows to be stronger.

If only for her -if she really is still with him.

He leaves the room but pauses at the doorway. His fingers touch at it and he sends a red, swollen look back into the depths of her cabin. He recreates her there on the step. Tall, lean and full of raw beauty. Her eyes smile a little sadly and she tilts her head at him, mink-sleek and soft. Her dark skin glows blue in the light of the fish tank. She gives him a wave and it goes right through him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and turns, following after Esteban.

The doors close behind him.

_No matter what happens, I will _always_ love you._


	29. El Alto El Fuego

**El Alto El Fuego**

He dreams about her that night.

And in the morning, he can't really even remember what the dream was about –but it stays with him all the same. Flashes of her face. Whispers of her voice. Ghosts of her fingers across his back.

By mid-afternoon, his promise of newfound strength in her honor turns into an adamant, unwavering belief. He can't get it out of his head. It sticks. It burns. It swallows him and overtakes him. He can't fight it. And honestly, he doesn't want to.

Because this all consuming idea he's poisoned himself with is hope enough to keep his grief at bay.

_Shepard is not dead._

He has no proof, no information and no signs to confirm this. But he had a dream about her last night. And it resonates with him, what brief images and sensations he can remember. Yeah, sure. Maybe this isn't the healthiest way to go about managing his grief. But he's just doing what Esteban said, right? Finding something to live for.

He's living for the day they can get off this planet and he can go find her. He's living for that moment when he can take her into his arms again and be the sole receiver of that blue hooded gaze. He lives because he's convinced he's going to see her again.

_Sigue tu corazón_, his mother always used to say.

He's trusted his heart and his gut with Shepard before. So he decides to trust it again.

He becomes obsessed with the idea of her survival over the next few days. The crew has a memorial service for her and he's handed her nameplate to add to the wall of those lost right outside the elevator.

Everyone stands around him, waiting for his move. They expect him to submit. They expect him to put the plaque up there with friends they've lost and hang his head or something. And he probably should. Letting everyone know that he believes she's alive is probably going to make them worry. Like he's truly gone off the fucking deep end or something.

Maybe he has.

But he breaks the nameplate over his knee anyway. It snaps in half with a sharp crack. He looks down at the two pieces in his hands.

"James," Liara breathes. He can hear the pity in her voice.

He whirls around.

"She's not dead," he says, and passes his gaze around the group of dark faces, "She's not."

If he could only convince them. But the faces don't change. The eyes lower, bodies shuffle and mourning hangs over them like a cloud. Liara is the only one who meets eyes with him. She searches his face –probably trying to figure out if he's really as _loco_ as he sounds.

"She's not," he defends himself softly.

He drops the two pieces of her name to the floor and then shoulders through the crowd.

No one stops him. No one has the energy.

* * *

He's patient. It's never been his strong suit but for Shepard, he could be anything.

The crew gives him a wide berth. He throws himself into his work anyway -tackling odd jobs with the repair crew when there isn't much tech knowledge needed and so on.

He's patient for three weeks. It takes that long for the crew to repair the Normandy enough to full functionality. The power comes back on in a rush of noise and light and whirring hums. A buzz of cheer echoes through the long halls.

Lift off is a little rocky, but Joker hasn't lost his touch. The Normandy takes to the sky and the crew enjoys the luxuries of having power again. Hot showers, cold drinks –and more importantly, the _extranet_.

Patience has its costs, but the rewards are always sweet.

The intercom at his workbench crackles as soon as the Normandy breaks the atmosphere of the planet and stars darken the hull again. Something ignites in his chest. Like he's about to hear Shepard's voice come through, asking him up to her cabin to spend the night.

"_Vega_."

It's Joker's voice instead. He sounds tired. Through his selfish grief, James had also forgotten Joker had lost someone close to him too with this mess. He clears his throat and presses the button.

"What'dyou need, _hombre_?" he asks.

"_I…it's…you need to come see something."_

James frowns and hits the button again.

"Be right up."

He lumbers through the cargo bay and herds himself into the elevator. The wait to get to the main deck is agonizing. His heart has started to pound. A bead of sweat follows his spine. It's all he can do to keep from racing to the cockpit and finding out what the fuck is so important that Joker had to call him.

When he gets there, he knocks on the frame of the cockpit. Joker sits alone in the seat at the helm.

"Hey," he announces his presence with a jut of his chin.

Joker's arm reaches up and pulls down a few holograms. James steps forward, looking over his shoulder.

"What's going on?" he asks.

Garrus comes up behind him, his eyes glinting. Shepard entrusted the Normandy to his control before the mission on London. He's been all over the place getting it prepared for travel again. He and James pass a look between each other, equally questioning.

Joker flits through a few screens.

"When the power came back on the Normandy's communication signals came back up. There's about thirty different emails from one source. I had to sift through a shitstorm of other ones to find the original but…"

He pauses as the email in question draws up in front of him.

"Figured you guys should see this."

James's eyes scan the top of the message. And there, plain as day in heavy, bold letters are all the answers he's been waiting for.

_**URGENT MESSAGE FROM ALLIANCE COMMAND.**_

ANDROMACHE HOSPITAL REPORT PATIENT #4533

RELAY TO SSV NORMANDY.

_**COMMANDER SHEPARD IS ALIVE**__._

* * *

It takes them another three weeks to travel across the systems to get to the coordinates of the hospital relayed in the message. With the relays down it makes getting places a big pain in the ass –but they aren't as far away as they could have been. Actually pretty damn close, all things considering.

All that time and she was only a few stars away. Funny how shit like that works.

He's standing outside her hospital door now. The rest of the crew is waiting in the lobby. But he's standing here, stock still, not even man enough to open the door.

He's scared. It's been hell without her. And ever since he convinced himself she was alive she's still been_ unobtainable_. He envisioned a day where he'd be able to kiss her again and talk to her again but –is he ready for it to be _today_? She's right on the fucking other side of this wall. All he has to do is open the door.

Fuck. What is he even going to say? He's had three weeks to prepare some lame ass, love conquers all speech and what does he have right now? Oh –right. _Nada_.

He has so many thoughts buzzing around his head he couldn't get a hold of an entrance if he tried. But his mother's wisdom comes back to him, as it always does in times of hardship. _Dios_, she would have loved Shepard.

_Sigue tu corazón._

The doors part with a whisk of air.

Inside, her room is white and impersonal. There's a resolving steady beat of a monitor machine and a compressing sound that mimics every other breath he takes. He takes a step forward. His boot squeaks on the lacquered floor.

_There_.

She's lying five feet away from him on the bed, a dark skinned statue wrapped up in too-white sheets. It's been almost two months since the Reapers were destroyed but her body still looks like a mess. She has an oxygen mask fitted around her dark mouth and nose, bandages on every exposed limb and deep purple bruises around her closed eyes. Her hair on the right side of her head seems to have been burned off. A dark peach fuzz of new growth decorates it.

He's never seen anything more goddamn beautiful in his life.

Her eyes open while he stands there. _Azul_ as oceans. Hooded, wide, like flames in her thin face. They glitter a bit at him, though she doesn't move. And with that, all of his apprehension falls at his feet. He crosses the distance between them in a few long strides, unable to stay away for another second. He comes to hover over her bed.

"Hey, Commander," he strains in a whisper, his throat tight.

She doesn't speak, but her eyes smile. She reaches up a bandaged, bruised hand for him to grab. He holds on for dear life. His head bows and his forehead comes to meet her cool knuckles.

"The second you get outta here I'm gonna take you wherever you want to go, Lola. I swear to God," he stumbles over his whispers, his chest trembling, "And then…then I'm never gonna leave your side ever again. _J__amás._"

Her hand squeezes his with gentle pressure. He picks his head up, bleary eyed and exhausted with joy. Her eyes curl in the corners a little more. Sweet and blue against her satin skin. She reaches up her free hand, purple and torn to hell but just as elegant as he remembers. Her fingers pull away her oxygen mask and her dark lips wobble into a weak smile.

"_Together."_

It's almost inaudible. Husky and low, it barely makes it out of her throat. But the word blasts through him like a cannon. He wavers in its wake. His fingers brush over the new downy, black hair on the side of her head and a laugh echoes through the hollow parts in his chest that she's starting to fill up.

"Together," he repeats.

And as she replaces the oxygen mask and he leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead, the war finally ends for James Vega.


	30. Epílogo

_Epílogo_**  
**

**SEVEN YEARS LATER**

"Put me _down! _Daddy! Daddy _stop!"_

Her happy shrieks are music to his ears. Her little body squirms under his arm as he holds his daughter by the waist and sweeps her up from the floor. Her raven dark curls bounce along her cheeks as she laughs and tries to wriggle her way out of his trap.

"_Ah, ah_, _querida_. Not so fast. Where's your brother?" he laughs.

He makes his way through the next room and back down the hallway. The Sunshine Coast settles with a dusky, orange sunset. The water outside the window glitters gold. James lumbers through another room with Preeya still trying to wrestle her father's tattooed arm that's almost twice the size of her body.

She suddenly stills.

"There he is, Daddy!"

He catches a glimpse of her round, violet-blue eyes while looks up for his approval and points a finger into the adjacent room.

"Ah hah!" he laughs and runs forward, "Hey there, big guy!"

His son, still too young to really get around on his own two feet, can't do anything but watch as James swoops forward and collects him under his other arm. Anderson has always been the quieter of the two kids. He simply falls limp in his father's grip and enjoys the ride, his fair hazel eyes blinking up at him.

"So I'm supposed to remind you two that you're gonna be on your best behaviors tonight," James says, toting around the two kids through the next room and heading for the living room.

"We _know_, Daddy," Preeya laughs.

Anderson yawns in response.

"_Bueno_," James laughs "And remember to say to hello to everyone before you go off and play."

"Yes, Daddy."

He makes it through the kitchen and then sets them both down on the floor, crouching until he's level with them. Preeya has her mother's smirking gaze and she folds her arms over her chest in a pose so similar it makes him chuckle. Anderson sucks his thumb, his skin a dark satin mix of his father's and mother's and his cheeks ruddy with youth.

"Preeya, take your brother and make sure you play with Kal," he says with a quick nod.

"Okay," Preeya grabs her brother's small, pudgy hand and starts for the next room.

James straightens up.

"But if he tries to charge at you again you come tell an someone, okay?" he calls after them.

Preeya is already gone. Hell. That girl moves fast. She gets that from Shepard too.

James opens a few windows in the kitchen to get the air circulating through the house. It's a small place. The world's being rebuit piece by piece. Even seven years later there's work to be done. But little houses like theirs have been popping up all over as people start to clear away the ashes and settle down again.

He and Shepard built this place themselves. It's not much, but when have they ever needed more than this? He pats touches the wall fondly after a breeze starts to roll through the house and then makes his way to the living room.

It gets louder as he nears. A low murmur of voices. As he steps into the room he finds it dusted gold with the sunset. That's one of his favorite parts about the house –it's has of the best views on the coast. Just like Kaidan promised.

The room is full of people. He stands at the threshold a little fondly for a moment, taking it all in.

Liara and Joker stand off in a corner together. Liara laughs at something he said –first in a reserved, dignified way but then breaking into a fit of giggles. Joker tugs his baseball cap down a little and grins. Jack comes up behind him and flicks him in the head affectionately.

Kaidan and his wife are talking with Garrus and Tali. No kids for Kaidan yet but his wife is almost seven months pregnant. She's pretty –suits him. She's soft, blonde and reserved. James can just tell by looking at Kaidan that he's crazy in love with her, too.

Around his feet, Preeya and Anderson are playing with Kal –the little Krogan that Garrus and Tali adopted a few years ago. Not so little anymore, now that he thinks about it. Tough kid. Not that it's surprising considering his genetics. But Tali and Garrus make a damn good team. They keep him out of trouble for the most part. But he and Shepard moved all their dishes and breakable items into the cabinets to prepare for his arrival -just to be safe.

Samara and Steve are sitting on the couch and directly across from them sits Shepard. It took her almost two years to make a full recovery. But she looks as good as ever, timeless, raw beauty radiates from the couch over to him. She has more than a few new scars. The only one that's visible now is one that creeps up from the collar of her shirt to her jaw. There are more underneath her shirt and cargo pants, ones that he knows she actually enjoys having.

She turns her head, as if she can feel his presence, and her hooded _azul_ eyes lock onto him. They curl in the corners a bit in greeting.

"Jimmy Vega!"

A voice distracts him and he looks over toward the center of the room. He laughs and makes his way over to the group there, clasping hands with Garrus and shaking when he arrives.

"Heya, Scars," he grins.

When they finish shaking hands Tali wraps her arms around his neck.

"Good to see you, James," she murmurs.

"Good to see you too, Sparks."

Kaidan moves in next and starts to shake his hand too. James pulls him forward into a bear hug instead, clapping him on the back.

"Heya, Blue," he booms.

Kaidan laughs and embraces him.

They've grown over the last seven years. And Kaidan's the reason he and Shepard have this house at all. An old poker debt that James had all but forgotten about, Kaidan offered up to them despite their polite declinations. He insisted, actually. He planned on moving back up to his parents place in Vancouver to do damage control to his home city anyway.

When he met his wife and settled down there, it was close enough for the two couples to go back and forth between both houses. They had them over for dinner at least three times a month and vice versa. It made it all feel like home again.

The memory of the Reapers had all but faded out.

Kaidan's wife, Maile, comes forward and hugs him gingerly. She just got news that her baby is a boy. In private, he and Kaidan joke about how they hope their sons will get off on the right foot sooner than they did.

They all talk until the sun sets on the Sunshine Coast. James makes his rounds through the party, catching up with the crew and remembering how much they've been through. How much they fought for. How close they were to losing everything.

At the end of the night, Preeya, Anderson and Kal are passed out on the couch together. The reunion slows. Most are staying over in the guest rooms since travel is still a pain in the ass and no one feels much like leaving. Kaidan and Maile have already retired to one. Garrus and Tali are standing out on the porch overlooking the water with Liara.

He's been talking with Steve for the last hour. He always wished he could bring back Robert for him –but Steve has never held Shepard's return against him. And he has him to thank for pulling him through the months where he couldn't know if she was really gone or not. He couldn't ask for a better friend.

The sun sets and suddenly he notices Shepard is no where to be found.

"I'm gonna go check on her," James murmurs, after Steve inquires about her absence.

His oldest friend nods and smiles, touching him on the arm in passing.

James makes his way through the house. He's pretty sure he knows where she is. He cuts down a hallway and turns left and finds himself at their bedroom door. He pushes it open and peeks a head in.

"Lola?"

Sure enough, she's lying on the bed with her hands clasped over her stomach. Her head turns at him when he enters and even through the shadows he can see the light of her eyes.

"Hey," she murmurs.

He crosses the room and climbs onto the bed next to her. He props himself on an elbow and leans over her, brushing away a strand of her hair. She's let it grow out a little. It almost reaches her shoulders.

"You okay?" he asks.

She nods once, twice, and then in an unsteady rhythm like she's trying to convince herself too.

"Mmm, just thinking," she whispers.

"About?"

She's quiet. Her eyes close. A breath swells in her lungs and her lips part.

"Having everyone here..it just puts things into perspective," she says, "How _lucky_ we are to be able to do this."

"Luck had nothin' to do with it," James corrects her with a smirk, "You took out the Reapers. You _gave_ us this future."

They're far enough away from the general public so Shepard can forget that most days. She's praised as the angel of the galaxy, a hero, a messiah –her face is everywhere. But they're far enough away from it that it allows her to be separated from the fame. She doesn't want all of the publicity or the honor. She never wanted it. She's happy just being a mother now –and James respects that.

So on the rare occasion when some unsuspecting news team comes knocking on their door, James meets them with a narrowed glance and his heavy, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. Preeya is usually there with him too, standing at his side in a similar position. And Lord knows that girl is terrifying when she wants to be.

The reporters usually pack up pretty quick after that.

Shepard laughs softly.

"I had help."

"Not when it really came down to it. You were alone up there and you made the choice and you saved a hell'uva lot of people, Shepard."

She sighs.

"I'm just glad we're able to do this."

"You and me both."

He lowers his head a little and they kiss. Briefly, but then with more heat. It's been seven years and he still can't get over that tight, buoyant feeling in his stomach that she gives him. She sucks the wind right out of him and her rosy nails touch at the back of his neck. He sighs and they break away. He rolls onto his back and Shepard curls up against him, her head on his chest.

"The skylight was a good idea," she murmurs absently.

He glances up with her to the window they put in right over their bed. The vast expanse of stars hovers over them, just as it used to in her cabin aboard the Normandy. He tightens an arm around her and kisses the top of her head. They lay in warm silence for a moment.

"Wanna head back out there?" he asks her, hearing a murmur of voices return from the direction of the living room.

She nods, but as he starts to move her hand curls on his chest.

"In a minute."

Her flickering blue gaze ignites in the dark and she leans over him, bringing her satin mouth to his. He kisses her hungrily, hands at her waist and through her hair before he flips her over and starts to kiss at her neck. Her husky laughter runs through him as she tilts back her head and lets her hands rake over his shoulders.

They kiss under the stars for ten minutes longer than they mean to before they brush themselves off and make their way back to the living room.

Not that those ten minutes really matter. These days, they have all the time in the world.

* * *

_Wowwowowow. I've had such an amazing journey writing this story and you guys have made it all worth while! I honestly will never be able to express my thanks enough for all the support you've given me and I am so happy to have shared this experience with you. The reviews I've gotten have literally brought me to tears at times. You all are so kind and I can't begin to tell you how honored I am to have connected with some of you with this story. That is really the thing I love most about writing and it wouldn't happen if you guys weren't so amazing and hadn't shared this journey with me. :)_

_From the bottom of my heart, thank you thank you thank you! To all those who have been reading from the beginning, middle and even the end! Every single one of you is so special to me and I'm so so so so so humbled by all your comments and feedback. I wish I had something more to give you guys than words!_

_Be sure to stick around, I'm sure as heck not done writing yet! Mass Effect has pretty much given me material to write for ages so I expect there will be some more exploration of this verse in the future for me :)_

_Thank you again to you, wonderful readers! Hope you have enjoyed this as much as I have!_

_-Vermouth_


End file.
